“Kory Steed’s new book, Through Roscoe’s Eyes, is a tear-jerker with a very happy ending. If you love your pets, you’ll love this novel, because I think the animals stole the show in it.”

“You don’t want to miss this bestseller.”

“Check out this great title from this gifted author!”

When Reggie sets out to continue his mother’s mission to feed the homeless, he never anticipated how much a chance encounter with an injured man, his small, gaunt dog, Roscoe, and sick, young cat, Cinders, would change the course of his life. With a winter storm approaching, Reggie makes a snap decision and brings the wary trio to his estate home to be cared for and nursed back to health.

Reggie learns the man’s name is Calvin, he was a quartermaster in the army, and he was dishonorably discharged prior to the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”. Taking pity on the man and in need of someone to help him run his mother’s foundation, Reggie offers Calvin a job. With few prospects in sight to find shelter for his small family during the peak of winter, Calvin reluctantly accepts Reggie’s offer on a trial basis, but it is only one of many trials both men will face.

Eventually, yearnings Reggie and Calvin had buried deep inside begin to fan the nearly extinguished embers of passion in both men. With Calvin drawing emotional support from Roscoe and Cinders, and Reggie discovering an ally in his beloved housekeeper, both men explore their newfound attraction, edging them toward the precipice of an ecstasy neither could have imagined.

Will the discovery of a past connection between the two men’s families be enough to bring them together? Or will sinister, outside forces and an unexpected loss of life shatter the bonds between both families and both men for good?

Buy Links:

Teaser:

Reggie nodded and smiled as he closed the door behind them and then led Calvin to the foot of his bed. Placing both of his hands behind Calvin’s neck, he pulled him in and tenderly kissed his mouth. His hands slid down until he reached the top of Calvin’s shirt. He drew the shirttails from his pants and began to unbutton it.

“Whatever you want, Calvin. We don’t have to push this. We can just talk if you like.”

Calvin’s eyes began to twinkle. “Hell no,” he said, seductively. “The time fer talkin’s over. I want the full treatment.” Then his face turned impish. “If you please, sir.”

Reggie laughed out loud. “Well you certainly don’t have any difficulty making your wishes known.”

“That ain’t never been one of my problems. I said it, ‘coz, well, you know, I ain’t had it in a while.”

“I’ll be very gentle,” Reggie assured him, “It’s been a while for me as well, but you have had sex before, anal sex I mean, right?

“Oh, hell yeah, but it’s been more ’n a couple o’ years. Things likely t’ have un-stretched if’n ya know what I means.”

“I do, and I hope you’ll not be the only one to be re-stretched tonight, if you know what I mean.”

“I’ll do my best.” Calvin reached for Reggie’s shirt, but Reggie stopped him when he cupped his chin with his right hand and drew him toward him by the shoulder with his left. Calvin’s arms fell to his sides as a moan escaped his mouth when Reggie ran his tongue up his neck and ended behind his ear.

“God, you smell good,” Reggie whispered. “You taste even better, but there’s something I’ve wanted to taste even more for days now.” Reggie dropped to his knees and frantically yanked at Calvin’s belt. He undid the top button, and slid down the fly of his pants, then pulled them to the floor in one fell swoop. Immediately his mouth was upon the thick, seven-inch, hard shaft, drawing it into his mouth through the boxers’ fabric.

As Calvin’s legs began to tremble, he grasped Reggie’s head, steadying himself. “You’re gonna make me buckle over if’n you keep that up.”

“Mmm,” Reggie moaned.

When he slipped the mushroomed head through the boxers’ fly and sucked down the liquid-gold pre-cum oozing from the tip, Calvin grunted. “Damn, boy, you know what to do with a mouth!”

Spurred on by Calvin’s words, Reggie began to bob his head up and down, sucking extra hard as his lips passed over the head’s flange. He drew the shaft in further until his face bounced off Calvin’s belly when it reached the back of his throat.

Calvin could feel himself being brought closer and closer to the edge of orgasm as his prostate began to shudder. “No, Reggie! Wait! Please slow down.” He began to pant. “I want the first … first time I come … come with you to be … to be with you inside me.”

“So good … you taste so good,” Reggie moaned between breaths, not slowing down in the least.

“Reggie!” Calvin cried out as he stumbled forward.

As he fell toward the floor, Reggie’s grip was broken as Calvin caught himself against the footboard of the bed. “Damn, boy, I nearly came. You got yourself one hell of an appetite there!”

“And then some,” Reggie said, with a leer.

Calvin sat down on the floor and held his hands out in front of him. “Please, can we slow this down a smidge? We got all night.”

“Yeah, we do,” Reggie answered with lust in his voice. “And I’m planning to dine on you several times before morning.”

“Then let’s do this right.” How ‘bout a shower, or a bath first?”

“Even better. Then we’ll be all slick and slippery.”

“This here’s a different side of you I ain’t never seen, fer sure. I think I like it, Reggie, but it’s gonna take some gettin’ used t’.”

“Sorry,” Reggie said anxiously. “I’m just so worked up right now. I can’t believe this is really happening, not to me, not now, and I don’t want it to slip by.”

Calvin caressed Reggie’s face. “Me neither.”

“I was so sure I wasn’t going to let it happen. I was determined to not allow my desire for you to ruin the friendship that began to develop between us. And besides, you’re my employee.”

Calvin leaned forward and reached out to caress Reggie’s face. “I ain’t makin’ light of it, but I sure am glad you decided otherwise, ‘coz I’m gonna need help with this,” he said as he gazed into Reggie’s eyes and drew his hand to his pulsating shaft. Then he lowered his eyes to Reggie’s groin. “And I think you’re gonna need help, too.”

Calvin pushed Reggie back up and rose to his knees as he began to unfasten Reggie’s pants. As the belt came free, and Reggie helped to shimmy them and his briefs down, his eight inches of manhood sprang free. It was so thick, Calvin’s fingertips barely met when he wrapped his hand around it. So engorged with blood, its purpled veins contorted and seethed, begging for release, as the shaft swelled and bounced with each heartbeat.

Reggie moaned as Calvin caressed its length with his fingertips. “There’s only one thing that will relieve it, Calvin.”

“I know.” Calvin answered as he licked his lips and leaned forward. “And I’m gonna help you out with that right now, as best I can.”

The moment he pressed his lips to the swollen, purpled head, Calvin began to suck greedily, drawing in the briny nectar that oozed through the slit at the tip. He licked his thumb and index finger and formed them into a ring, then wrapped them around the sensitive spot behind the ridge, extending the pressure his lips exerted and gently milked back and forth across the sensitive glans. As saliva slid down the shaft, it lubricated his grip even more, sending shivers up Reggie’s spine.

“So good … tastes so good,” Calvin moaned in response. “Gawd, it’s been so long … so damn long.”

Reggie began to slowly thrust his hips forward, advancing his cock until it pushed through Calvin’s stretched lips. He continued to thrust until it reached the back of Calvin’s mouth, nearly dislocating his jaw with its girth. Calvin gagged and his eyes watered, but he pressed on and swallowed as the head passed his tonsils, drawing the tip down his throat. Reggie shuddered as pleasure waves spread from his loins and out through his body when the thickened saliva that formed at the back of Calvin’s throat slicked the path his cock followed. “Baby, you’re bringing me close. You’re going to make me come.”

Calvin slid off his cock, choking as it left his throat. “Ain’t that the idea?” he said after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Beth Cooper is a girl in trouble. Temple, the local mob boss, is forcing her to clear a debt left over by her father. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but she didn’t count on meeting her mate or for Kelvin, her assigned partner-in-crime, to shoot Carlos, the elderly security guard.

David Parr is a shifter. He’s back from a job and working in Beth’s town as a security guard before heading back to rejoin his pack. He’s just desperate for time away from pack politics, but he never expected to meet his mate here—or for her to be in a world of trouble.

A human girl and a werewolf. A forbidden pairing but fated by the stars.

If they survive…

Buy links:

Excerpt:

The elderly woman hobbled into the kitchen and returned, rather slowly, with a trayful of vividly violet frosting-covered cupcakes. He picked one up as the door opened behind him. Another scent hit him like a ton of bricks. Blown in by the light wind from outside, it was one that destroyed the other scents in the room. For a split second he couldn’t place it. Intently female but it wasn’t perfume. No, it was natural, and his wolf howled in recognition. It took a second for him to catch up with the rest of him.

Mate.

That’s not possible. There aren’t any shifters in Harper. David took a deep breath and fought against the urge to turn around and gawp at her. Ingrid glanced to the side of him and smiled at the woman. “Good morning dear. What can I get you?”

“I’m okay. I mean, I wanted to look around. It’s my mom’s birthday soon, and I wanted to get her something.” The woman laughed nervously behind him. “I don’t have a clue what to get her. She isn’t the easiest person to shop for.”

David froze. A lie. It tasted bitter against his tongue. Barely there but hard to miss. Why would she lie about something like that?

Blurb:

Naive sixteen-year-old Andrea Cavanaugh is elated when Josh, a charismatic, bright-eyed piano prodigy, becomes her first boyfriend. But the closer she gets to him, the more she realizes that he is not the boy she first fell for. In its poignancy and emotional darkness, Forgiven Are the Starry-Eyed takes you deep into the delicate and devastating web of shame that spirals from the depths of dating violence when dreamy teenage love turns dark. Andrea must find not only an escape, but a belief that she is even worthy of freedom.

Buy links:

Excerpt:

My eyelids closed as if they were being drawn down by sluggish, unhurried weights. When I forced them open after several seemingly endless moments, nothing had changed. I could still make out a blurry image of Josh standing nearby, Mr. Thompson’s hands clenched firmly on Josh’s shoulders from behind. There was a crowd, I think, and muffled voices. The steel school locker felt cold against my back and I recognized the familiar feeling that lately seemed to just dwell and ache in my bones. Fear, I think it was, mixed with just enough madness to keep the blood racing through my veins … fast. Too fast.

“Why did you do that, Andrea?” Josh shouted in my direction.

My eyes fell closed again. I don’t remember what else he said. I just remember the feeling of each overly pronounced syllable piercing the air while he said it. I stared through the darkness that danced behind my heavy eyelids. What had I done?

I tried to pry open my hazy eyes to examine the faces of the expanding crowd as they stood, mouths agape. I only recognized a few. There were hardcover music books sprawled open on the tile floor at my feet. Confused, I looked to Josh, but the heavy silence of the room deafened any words he may have been saying. I gripped the ends of my soft, thin hair between my slender fingers and waited. Each thought sunk deeper than the last.

There was a poster taped sloppily against the locker behind me. I turned my head to face it and focused. The ends were curled up and there were ripples in the masking tape adorned to the edges. “Oakwood High School Invitational—TONIGHT” it read in handwritten purple block letters. There was a pixelated saxophone image pasted underneath the words, “Brought to you by Mr. Thompson and the Oakwood High Jazz Band.” I brought my hand up to trace the edges. The poster board felt crisp and thick under my fingertips. I could smell the aftermath of the permanent marker. The loud reverberating voice behind me got softer until it resembled a deep echo I could easily ignore. I started to pick at the tape from the bottom left corner of the poster until I felt the sticky residue ball up underneath my fingernail.

Suddenly the life reentered my body in one abrupt breath when I felt a strong tug on my arm. I turned and saw Ethan Marks. Everyone else was gone. Had it been minutes this time? Hours?

“Andrea! Come on,” he barked at me, interlacing my arm, tucking it quickly under his. He jerked me to a standing position and pulled me down the hall, speeding up his gate as I stumbled to catch up.

“Where’s Josh?” I asked worriedly, but he didn’t answer. We were silent as we walked through the empty hallway. I lifted my gaze, trying to catch Ethan’s eye, trying to read his thoughts. His light blue eyes, usually sparkling with laughter, were steely and somber as he charged forward, dragging me with him, away from the wreckage I’d caused.

He stopped short and took a deep breath. His eyes were unyielding and dismal as they studied me, and slowly his frustration melted into a deep sadness.

“What happened, Andrea? What was that back there?”

“I don’t know…” My voice began breaking. My thoughts were muddled beyond recognition and I couldn’t form the right words, or any words, to explain.

Ethan wrapped himself around me in a gentle, firm embrace. It felt kind. And warm. And wonderfully different. My muscles unclenched for the first time in months, and I didn’t know I was crying until I tasted the salt as it stained my face. I buried my head into Ethan’s chest as he tightened his hold on me. I wanted him to say something, to tell me everything would be all right, but we both knew better. So we just stood there, Ethan supporting me as I clasped the back of his cotton t-shirt between my fingers.

After a few minutes, I fully returned to my body as my breathing calmed. I steadied my stance and took a step backward, shakily holding Ethan’s forearms as I regained my balance. Wiping smudged mascara from my pale face, I met Ethan’s eyes and quickly looked down, fixating on a crack in the tile below me.

“Hey,” he started, “Andrea … it’s…”

“I’m okay. Ethan, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to … I’m sorry I … ugh your shirt.” I motioned to the tear stains on his light green tee that crept from his chest to his shoulder.

“Oh God, don’t worry about that. Andie, I just…”

“It’s fine.” I wiped my face and took a deep breath. “Thanks,” I said, squeezing Ethan’s hand and looking in his eyes sincerely, so he knew I meant it. “I should go. But thanks.” I shook my head and turned around to walk back into the havoc and face what I had done. I felt Ethan staring at me as I left. He was just another person whose life would’ve been better if he hadn’t met me. I swallowed, took a breath, and kept walking.

It was over for now, that latest incident, and there was no way to tell when there would be another one … but there would definitely be another one. I was too broken for it to be any other way.

Author bio:

Christine lives in the Los Angeles area with her husband and their two children. She works full-time as a senior marketing manager for a large media company and holds a Bachelor of Business Administration degree from Western Michigan University where she studied marketing. Growing up in the chilly Midwest, she developed a deep passion for dramatic writing and alternative music at an early age, which still peaks through in her adult-corporate-mom life today. Forgiven Are the Starry-Eyed is Christine’s debut novel.

Blurb:She lost him seven years ago. Now he’s back in her life…and back in her bed.

April Donovan thought she’d gotten over Grant Carmichael. He broke her heart, took her feelings for granted, and chose a baseball career over her. She moved on with her life and eventually healed. Seven years later, a chance meeting throws that theory asunder, and several passionate moments rekindle the fire. He wants her again—mind, soul, and…body

Excerpt: And in about five minutes, he would be strolling back into her life. Not on a permanent basis, but she would see him again, and a flood of emotions would swallow her in their depths. She’d want him, both with her mind and her heart. She would fight, and she would lose the battle. As a settlement agent, her job was to close real estate transactions. Grant was a real estate broker who, along with his brothers, purchased houses, renovated them, and then flipped them for a profit. He had been quite successful and often usedher. “April Donovan, it is you. I had wondered if AD stood for you.” She motioned toward a visitor’s chair opposite her. “Mr. Carmichael. Please sit down.” No, don’t sit. He stood astute and gorgeous in a charcoal, three-piece suit, with a soft gray dress shirt and burgundy tie. The slim fit complemented his physique. The Grant she remembered had worn jeans and T-shirts. This version was one hundred percent eye candy. His head tilted to the side, and his lips formed a thin line. “We have a past. No need for formalities.”April prayed her pulse wasn’t visibly pounding in her neck. Her eyes bored into his. Damn, he’s still gorgeous. His black hair was trimmed close to his head on the sides and longer and more disheveled on top, suiting his angular face. His jaw was still strong and could probably still take a punch. She had seen it happen before. Her gaze fell to his lips—lips that could make her tremble as they moved over her skin. Heat flooded her core, and she clenched her thighs together. She cleared her throat. “That is correct, Mr. Carmichael. We did have a past, but we have nothing now.” His brows rose, and a slow, sexy grin turned his lips upward. “Okay. We can play it your way.” He lowered his six-foot, two-inch frame into the vacant seat. “For now.”

About LM: LM Spangler lives in South Central Pennsylvania with her husband, daughter, three dogs, a cat, a rabbit, and some fish. Her son serves his country in the US Navy.She is a fan of college football and any kind of baseball and likes to watch the Discovery, Velocity, HGTV, DIY, Science, and any channel showing a college football game. She also watches old game shows like $25,000 Pyramid and Match Game.

Thank you so much for hosting, today. I’m excited to once again share this story with readers. The Devil Take You, is a bit different for a historical romance. Though it’s still heaped with historical significance of the time—set in 1307 during the Scottish Wars of Independence and the story also focuses on, of course, a romance, but the ‘hero’ is the villain.

I wanted to create an anti-hero, a severely flawed, cruel, and malevolent character with no hope of redemption.

Meet Gard Marschand—known in the Highlands as the legendary devil—an evildoer of epic proportions. Marauder, murderer, thief, a man hell bent on revenge. He is prepared to do anything, no matter how heinous to accomplish his goals. This man is nobody’s hero. But even in his wickedness, he still holds to his own moral code, skewed as it may seem to decent folk.

So, how then, do we create a romance when the protagonist is such a deplorable character?

Place a feisty Scottish lass—with a few secrets of her own—in the devil’s path, of course!

This story was challenging right from the beginning, and I knew that I had to create the right woman with a combination of strength, resilience and an overabundance of, if not understanding, at the very least acceptance, for a man who has no remorse for any of his wrongdoings and with no inclination or desire to change. Braelynn Galbraith began as the woman in the wrong place at the wrong time, but she eventually evolved into a character that could stand toe-to-toe with the devil and hold her own.

I hope you’ll enjoy, The Devil Take You—

Blurb:

Braelynn Galbraith wants peace for her beloved Scotland, marriage to her childhood sweetheart, and a house full of children. In that order. But evil incarnate, in the form of Gard Marschand, turns her life inside out and destroys all hope of a decent marriage.

Known in the Highlands as the legendary devil, Gard Marschand raids his way across Scotland and England amassing power and property in his malevolent wake. He will stop at nothing in his pursuit to regain what is lost— even conceal his true identity and associate with his enemies. His determination is all-consuming until he and his men lay siege to Ross-shire holding and one feisty Scottish lass obliterates his single-minded purpose.

Can Gard abandon his deep-seated need for revenge for a love that just might save his rotten soul? Or will he succumb to the demons that hound him and surrender to the devil within?

What a fabulous, well crafted story! I could hardly put it down. I love Brae as much as I loved Holly in the Always Cambridge series. They’re not the same character at all, but Brae is just as spunky, brave, creative, smart and grounded.

This book was wonderful in so many ways. Feisty heroine, brooding hero, historical facts woven into the plot, descriptions of sweeping landscapes, drama and intrigue…well-deserved praise!

I love a good historical romance, especially those set in Scotland. With a spirited young miss in Brae and a rogue in Gard, HK Carlton has created two of my favorite characters in The Devil Take You. With a story that ranks with those of Jude Deveraux and Nora Roberts, HK’s tale will sweep you up in a tide of passion and intrigue that will keep you turning pages.

Excerpt:

Brae slept until the noise of the camp rising woke her.

She dressed, then packed her gear and waited for Marschand’s tent to come down, and the day’s travel to begin.

She was unsure with whom she would ride this day, Llach or Marschand. Or if she would have to walk. She could not march too far without eating. She was starving.

“Why not? Do you think if you do not consume, that in death, you will escape me?”

“Nay, it had no’ occurred ta me, but it is somethin’ ta keep in mind. Thank ya for the suggestion.”

His lips tightened.

“As usual I am no’ allowed ta leave your quarters, but no one brings me food,” she explained. “And you are off doin’ wha’e’er it is tha’ ya do. I’d think ya might be nicer ta the one ye need ta rely on.”

His dark eyebrows knitted. “You grant yourself too much importance.”

Unable to help herself, even after Hudson’s warning, she said, “Ye ne’er ken when I could reword your correspondence, or jus’ plain no’ read the whole o’ it. Puttin’ ya in a bad position.” She challenged, returning his scowl. “Ya migh’ want ta think aboot tha’ the next time ye be dolin’ oot your punishments. I can be vindictive, too. ’Twould seem ya have a whole lot more ta lose than I do.” She tried to walk away, but he snaked his hand out and grabbed her braid, hauling her backward.

His black eyes glittered as he yanked on her hair so hard, she had no choice but to face him. “Why do you not learn?” he sneered.

“And why dinna ye learn? I think I jus’ made meself perfectly clear.” Slowly and deliberately, she reached downward in hope that neither Marschand nor his men would detect the measured movement.

“And if you are of no use to me,” Marschand countered, “then I have no use for you. Do not bite the hand that feeds you, Mistress Galbraith, is that not what you once said?”

“And perhaps the withholding of food may continue, Miss…” He stopped speaking when she pressed the blade from his own dirk against his skin. A trickle of blood ran down his neck. His mouth quirked, and his eyes lit from within.

He is the most confounding man! If she did not know better, she’d think he was proud of her. “Ya see, Marschand, I am learnin’. Soon ya willna be able ta push me aroond.”

“You need to be willing to use it, Braelynn.” With lightening speed, he took hold of her wrist and applied enough pressure that she was forced to drop the blade. “Or I will continue to push you around all I wish.” He ground his hips against her, leaving her no doubt as to what kind of pushing he meant. “But it was a splendid attempt.” He winked. The carefree action surprised her—so at odds with his severe nature. “However, I did enjoy the bloodletting.”

H K Carlton is a multi-genre Canadian author of romance, with over thirty titles in publication. From naughty to nice, historical to contemporary, time travel to space travel, and everything in between.

Sheriff Savannah “Savvy” Douglas fell in love with a bad boy who walked out of her life. Ten years did little to dull the feelings she had for him. But a year ago he stopped calling and texting, leaving her with nothing but questions.

He was the high school bad boy… and the boy she fell in love with.

Dr. Brody Collins was about to return to the town he grew up in… and the town where the love of his life still resided. He’d broken all communications with her for a year when his past caught up with him. But he was ready to rectify the situation.

Will Savvy forgive him and give them the chance they’d lost out on ten years ago?

Excerpt:

A small smile crossed his face though it never reached his eyes. “I can explain.”“Explain what, Brody?” The question came out harsh, even to my own ears, but I plowed on. “A year. Not a text, phone call, letter, or fck you. Nothing. You ditch me and expect me to be happy to see you.” “Savvy,” he began, stepping toward me. I shoved him back until he fell onto the same rocker he had been sitting in when I arrived. “Don’t you dare “Savvy” me. The name is Sheriff Douglas.” He held up his hands. “I know you’re upset.” The anger that had been simmering became a full-on boil. “Fck you, Brody. What? Did you find yourself a woman and couldn’t bring yourself to tell me? Did you go on a year-long bender after graduation?” I turned my back on him—perhaps the hardest thing I’d ever done. My heart lurched and tears burned my eyes. I wouldn’t cry in front of him. I wouldn’t!“You are so damn pigheaded, Savannah. But I can understand why you’re upset. I’ll come back later when you’ve had a chance to clear your head. Then maybe you’ll listen to me.”With that, he sidestepped me and made his way to his SUV. He opened the door and paused. “I do love you.”With a Herculean effort, I managed to hold the tears in until he was out of sight. Those tears burned a hot path down my cheeks, as I did exactly what I didn’t want to do.Cry a river over him.I stood on the porch, facing the lake. The sun shimmered over its surface, but was a blur to me. The shimmer became diamonds dancing atop the water as the torrent of tears slowed and finally burned out. Leaving me raw…And empty.

About LM:

She live close to the Maryland border in South Central Pennsylvania. Her husband is wonderfully supportive of her in all aspects of her life. She has a son who is currently serving our country in the U.S. Navy. Her daughter is still in school. She’s blessed to have the three of them in her life.
From a young age, she remember burying her nose in a book. A love that her mother and father passed onto her brother and herself. From her passion for reading sprang her love of writing. Her mind is so often full of story ideas from the wildly paranormal to contemporary. She has notebooks lying about with story outlines and character descriptions. A song or TV show can spark an idea which circles her mind until she puts the idea on paper.
When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, burying her nose in a book, and watching a vast variety of television shows from crime dramas to 1970’s game to car restoration shows. She even dabbles in crafting. Her favorite craft would be jewelry making. Nothing like creating wearable art.

Dolyn Kemmerly has found his destined mates. Unfortunately, they are more human than dragonblood. While his inner beast longs for them, his male stubbornness insists there are mates more worthy of his royal bloodline.

Due to Ashley O’Connor’s traumatic past, only the painful slap of a Dom’s toys can help her find release. A celibate sub, she’s never ached for a man’s tender touch—until a mysterious stranger follows her into her Master’s club.

When Ashley lifts one of her hard limits, Giovanni DiLoreto, her sex-therapist recommended Dom, is finally allowed to touch the flesh he’s been lusting to caress. Doing so, however, earns him a bloody nose by a hot-as-fuck stranger. Master Vanni has never touched a dick in pleasure, but the sudden desire to dominate the newcomer—while Ashley watches—consumes him.

Dolyn’s ancestors might accept Vanni for the heart of the dragon inside him, but it will take Dolyn’s complete submission to his alpha to help Ashley heal and unlock the destiny awaiting them all.PURCHASE LINKS:

Cloaking myself and following Ashley into the nondescript door at the end of the hallway came easy. Slipping through what appeared to a main entrance rather than a locker room of sorts she had entered proved a bit more difficult as a receptionist’s desk and bouncer flanked the double doors.

I glanced around the reception area, fully present, yet visually, nothing more than a bend of light to the two in the room with me. Gray walls. Glass desk. Abstract art on the walls and two other doors besides the one Ashley had disappeared through—boring and not giving me a hint of what lay beyond.

I eyed one of the chairs along the wall to my left and considered waiting until Ashley returned.

The double doors opened, however, releasing a flood of sensual delights mere humans wouldn’t catch. Heat, aroused murmuring, and sex. My dragon hummed his delight, but I frowned and raced forward, slipping through the opened door as the patron of whatever the place was bade the receptionist a good evening.

A holding room with another set of double doors that couldn’t muffle or contain the patrons’ arousal. Still nothing more than a flicker in a person’s peripheral vision, I pushed one of the doors open enough to slip through.

I stepped over a threshold leading to a sinner’s delight. Musk, sweetness, and the scent of anxious perspiration swept over me. Humans … dozens of them in all sorts of dress and lack thereof mingled in the huge lounge area. Dim lights. Low music. Leather seating and a bar lay on my left, a dais beyond held a St. Andrew’s Cross with a woman moaning beneath a Dom’s ministrations.

Chains clanked from a man strung to the ceiling directly on my right. Groans rose from two men getting their cocks sucked by kneeling submissives as they lounged by the bar on my left.

My gaze returned to the cross and the woman strapped to it.

How many times had I allowed Elijah to do the same to me? How many times had he forced me to climax before shoving his cock so far up my ass I lost my breath?

My dick swelled in my jeans, but it wasn’t the actions of the Dom that turned me on. It was the thought of being on the receiving end of his flogger—the one receiving the type of pleasure found in pain.

Please.

My dragon’s whimper to play hit me hard, the fact I wanted to be the one submitting rather than dominating even harder. “Alpha,” I muttered aloud, reminding us both of our dominance as a blood born dragon from the royal line.

I’d caught a hint of Ashley’s scent while following her down the hallway into the sex club, but the overwhelming perfumes of human and sex masked her—if she’d even made her way into the lounge area.

My female … found delight in a sex club. I couldn’t have asked for more. Couldn’t have been more pleased—so why didn’t my inner dragon hiss his desire to tie her up? Stripe her ass in the way Elijah had mine countless times? Why did I want to pleasure her with gentleness—loving tenderness?

A fierce frown dented my brow as I licked my lips, hoping for a taste of Ashley’s sweetness in the air.

Cries of ecstasy jerked my head to the left … the lounge’s far corner. A dark-haired man fingered a woman through her climax, her cum slipping around his hand, dripping to the floor.

Her scent slammed into me with a wave, and my dragon growled a rumble deep in my chest to taste. To claim.

My female.

Pale, shapely legs led to her rounded ass the man now caressed, and my need to taste leaped to fierce protectiveness in a single heartbeat.

No longer cloaked, I strode across the room, darkness seizing my mind, my self-control, something that hadn’t happened in over a hundred years.

He’s touching her. Mine.

My dragon hellbent on ripping the man’s arms from his torso, I stalked forward, eating up the distance between us in a matter of seconds, my claws shimmering in and out of sight.

The width of his shoulders came close to mine, but the breadth of his chest didn’t compare. An easy to defeat opponent, my dragon shrieked, clawing at my brain as I pulled all attempts to shift deep inside me where he couldn’t explode into a mass of muscle, sinew, and scales.

I grabbed the man’s shoulder and spun him toward me, my other fist shooting out, connecting with his nose before he had a chance to blink.

Green eyes. Brilliant like spring grass—

My dragon shrieked again as he grabbed hold of my upper arms to keep from falling. Electrical charges raced up through my chest, catching my breath as we stared into each other’s eyes.

Mate.

Dick immediately swollen—leaking at his touch—I hesitated a mere blink, my desire to drop to my knees and worship him shattering all I had hoped for my future.

His punch landed on my side with enough pain my stubbornness rose with a flap of dragon wings, and growling with the need to kill, the need to fuck, goddamn need—I clocked him on the side of the side of the head. He held tight to me, yanking me down as he fell like a bag of bricks, stunned but not knocked out.

I landed on top of him with a groan, my aching dick pressed against his, a wave of desire slamming into me. “Fuck. Me,” I gasped the words, blinking once more.

A cocky grin wobbled his lips, and he shifted his hips beneath me, pressing his own hard-on against mine. “I’m usually the one in charge, but that’s one command I would love to obey.”

His low voice slithered over my skin, waking goosebumps in its path, like a physical caress, and I froze.

Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.

Will Gunner choose to stand with his loyal Outlaw brothers or will he choose the path that crosses them—and leads him right into her arms?

Blurb:

Mitch “Gunner” Flannigan rules the Devil’s Outlaws with a firm hand, one trained by his stint in the SEALs, yet tempered by empathy for other vets. When a curvy redhead in Army fatigues snags his attention—and puts him in the line of fire—he’s torn between wanting to bury himself between her lush thighs and helping to ease her return to American soil.

The recent death of Shelby’s mother and her cousin’s terrorizing only adds to the PTSD hindering her return to civilian life. Flames ignite when she’s thrown into Gunner’s arms, where she also finds safety with someone who understands her struggles.

Attempts on Gunner’s life threaten their future, but so do the secrets Shelby withholds from him. When those secrets come to light Gunner will have a decision to make. Will he choose to stand with his loyal Outlaw brothers or will he choose the path that crosses them—and leads him right into her arms?

“You look like you could use some help,” I said, coming to stand in front of her. At six-foot-two, I towered over most women, but the flame-haired beauty didn’t have to crane her neck much to keep our gazes connected. Pale lashes, red at the tips, framed eyes blue as a summer sky, wide and a bit unfocused. Freckles covered her tanned skin, adding an innocent appearance that didn’t match her troubled eyes.

“G—Got a smoke?” she whispered and swallowed, the pulse in her neck galloping.

“Gave that sh** up a few years back.” My gaze lingered on her naked, plump lips. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Her attempted smile faltered, and she ran her palms down her thighs. “Trying to adjust to being a civilian again. Crowds like this…”

“Been there.”

Her gaze snapped up from my leather vest with its patches declaring who I was. “Army?”

“Navy.”

She rubbed her naked lips together, and I stared. “Did you see any action?”

“Afghanistan.” I held up my hand. “Lost these two fingers, lost my ability to be a SEAL, and got an honorable discharge when my contract expired.” I glanced from one of her pale eyes to the other, trying to read the turmoil inside. “You?”

She swallowed again and nodded, glancing around.

I knew when not to pry. “I’m Gunner.” I held out my whole hand, and the touch of her soft grip raced a shot of lust straight to my groin.

“Shelby.”

Escaped tendrils of her hair blew over her freckled face in a breeze that held no hint of fall air. “Got a red ’66 Shelby in my garage at home.”

A bit of life lightened her gaze. “My father might have had a thing for mustangs once upon a time.”

“I like him already,” I said with a grin, finally releasing my hold on her hand.

“He passed a few years ago.”

My lips flat-lined, and I shoved my hands in my pockets as the desire to wrap her up in my arms and comfort her made me twitch. I was all about getting some, but the emotional connection? I sure as f*** wasn’t looking for that sh** since I had enough of my own to deal with. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” She glanced over her shoulder and wrapped her own arms around her midsection, needing that hug my body wanted to offer even if my brain didn’t.

Deflated but not defeated for possibly hooking up with Shelby in the future, I angled my thoughts toward being her friend. I wasn’t a total douche, after all. “Do you have a support group? They’re great for helping vets like us transition back to civilian life.”

“No. I just got back home three weeks ago.”

“There’s lots of groups—I can give you some names and numbers.” I wanted to offer my own, but bit my tongue.

“I have crowd issues.” Her voice small, gaze flitting—she was similar to many such souls returning from war. “I only came down here to meet my cousin. Otherwise?” She shook her head with a huffed, faked laugh.

“A therapist, then?”

She shrugged and glanced over her shoulder as a loud truck rumbled past.

“It’s safe here,” I said, a part of me softening in ways I’d almost thought long gone from my personality since returning home and joining the Devil’s Outlaws. “Middle of D.C., people here who’ve gone through what you have, myself included, there’s nothing to be—”

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Instinctively, I grabbed Shelby and threw her to the ground behind the closest cement bench, crowding against her curled up form as burst shots sounded close by.

Appropriate or not, I rifled through Shelby’s bureau, pulling out comfortable-looking clothing rather than the sexy underthings I’d have loved to see on her body. The second she’d stripped down to a mere t-shirt, nipples pebbled from the cold air of the house, my dick had decided to fuck with the goddamn situation and enjoy the sights.

And her ass beneath those damn fatigues? Shit. Even better than I’d imagined.

I adjusted myself, teeth clenched, and made my way back across the hallway to the closed bathroom door. My soft knock went unanswered, and I opened the door enough to speak though. A blast of that herbal scent from her shampoo tightened my dick to the point of pain.

“I got you some clothes,” I said, slipping them onto the sink beside the door, keeping my gaze averted from the shower directly ahead.

“Thanks.” Her voice broke.

“You okay?” How many times had I asked her that, knowing she’d say yes even though she wasn’t? I wasn’t usually one for a loss of words. “Shelby?”

“Y—Yeah.” She sniffled a bit, and the shower shut off.

I forced myself to step back into the hall and quietly closed the door in front of me. Shelby had to be in shock—I wouldn’t put it past her to climb out of the shower without a thought of her nudity while I stood in the doorway.

Dick aching, hands clenched at my sides, I told myself she needed a friend, nothing more. Sitting on the edge of her bed to wait for her didn’t lessen the tight confines of my leathers. A bookshelf on the far wall held old paperbacks, pictures, and knickknacks, and even an old gray stuffed bunny that looked well-worn and well-loved.

I wondered at her life before that day, her childhood, what happy moments she’d tucked away in her memory. I wondered, too, at the life ahead of her and how she would cope with becoming a civilian again—alone, without family except for a cousin she wasn’t close with, and without the brotherhood-type club that had helped me.

While I expected she wouldn’t be able to handle group therapy, I knew of two therapists who would fit her in if asked. Talking her into it would be another matter altogether since most returning vets didn’t want to be seen as being weak—even though seeking help wasn’t in my book.

With a shitty family—old, drunk dad, deceased mom, younger sister addicted to pain killers—I’d been thankful to find someone who helped me unload. I’d had a few girlfriends here and there, but none of them had understood my need for the Navy and the Outlaws after getting out. I needed that companionship, that brotherhood that gave my life meaning after struggling to adapt to home again.

Shelby’s arrival in the bedroom’s doorway prickled my skin with awareness and wiped all thoughts but her from my head.

Waves of damp red hair hung to her waist. She’d gone without the bra I’d included in the pile of clothes, and the tight t-shirt revealed every goddamn curve of her plump tits, including her tightened nipples.

I clenched my teeth and tore my gaze off her before my eyes could eat up her long legs encased in dark leggings and wonder at the color of hair hiding her pussy. “Come over here,” I said, pulling back her comforter and angling my body away from hers to hide my straining erection.

She obeyed without a word, curling on her side to face me, hands folded beneath her cheek. Light blue eyes fringed with equally pale lashes with a hint of red at their tips, peered up at me as I slouched to a crouch beside her bed.

My hand moved on its own to smooth strands of her hair away from her face, and she sighed, her eyelids fluttering shut beneath my touch, her freckles stark against her pale skin. “Will you stay while I sleep?”

Knowing there was no way in fuck I could crawl under the covers and hold her close, I laid down on top of her comforter behind her after texting Brewer to let him know I wouldn’t be returning to the compound that night. Shelby turned and tucked herself into me the best she could considering the blankets between us and let out another sigh.

“Thank you for saving my life and bringing me home.”

“Thank you for allowing me to be your knight in shining armor.”

A huff of light laughter escaped her, and my lips responded. I pulled her closer, settling her cheek on my chest and rubbed my fingertips against her scalp.

Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.

Elijah Tolzman has accepted he may be the only dragonblood shifter left on earth. Alone for close to ten years, he holds no hope of finding one, let alone the two fated mates needed to keep his kind from extinction.

When he catches the scent of his female deep in the White Mountains, he soars the skies, his heart and mind filled with hope as he goes to claim his destiny. However, he finds her in another man’s arms. His conscience might balk over tearing the lovers apart, but the dragon inside, the darkness he tries to suppress, demands he takes what belongs to him—regardless of the cost.

Jonathan Ebel and Dakota Taylor, long-time lovers who are unaware that the slightest hint of dragonblood simmers within their veins, are drawn to the pale-eyed stranger but are hesitant to acknowledge their inexplicable attraction to Elijah.

Can Jon admit his desire and open himself to submit to another man? Can Dakota accept the inevitable, knowing she may hurt the man she’s loved most of her life? Will Elijah finally get his heart’s wish?

Three dragonbloods are required to create life, but the destined mates must find the courage to make themselves vulnerable to each other, or their legacy, their species, dies with them.

EXCERPT:

A lazy trail of smoke snaked into the sky, pulling my focus a couple miles northeast of my veranda I stood upon. The setting sun caressed my left cheek as I blinked, bringing into focus the smoke’s origin. Two people sat beside the small fire, but from the distance, I couldn’t tell their sexes.

The breeze shifted the trees around me, their rustling leaves hiding my cliff-side home from view. I breathed deeply, hoping…

I strode into my house, grabbed a pullover sweatshirt, a small pack, and some water. One of the two hikers was mine, and I would claim her by night’s end.

My strides ate up the land, the rock and moss beneath my feet as I hastened toward my destiny, my mind racing, thoughts filled with the woman I would soon see. The brisk breeze shifted against my back and hinted at the fall to come, but remained warm enough that being outdoors as the sun set wasn’t bothersome. Not that I would have been uncomfortable either way. The dragonblood pumping through my arteries couldn’t be cooled.

Less than an hour later, the wind still at my back, I approached another outcropping perhaps two hundred yards from where I had seen the campfire. I pulled up short as the flickering flames came into view.

Two blond, tousled heads peeked from beneath a double sleeping bag beside the ring-less firepit—two writhing bodies in the throes of passion if their movements and moans my sharp ears made out in the still evening didn’t lie.

I clenched my teeth, hands fisted at my sides, fighting off the need to shift and take what the male had no right to touch.

She’s mine.

Their erotic dance of two souls already connected held me rapt, the scent of their combined arousal lighting a fire within me. The female cried out her release, and the male followed with a groan so sensual, so fulfilled that my heart seized, sending a rush of blood into my shaft, regardless of my jealousy. I palmed my swollen length through my jeans, squeezing away the need to spill my seed inside her.

My mate.

But she loved another.

I fought back my dragon jealousy and gave into the sudden weakness in my legs, sitting on a rock hidden by the growing darkness. Their murmurs reached my ears; however, their words remained indistinct as I fought to accept what I had stumbled upon, what fate had so cruelly dangled in front of me only to snatch away.

The male tossed back the top of their sleeping bag, and the images I’d seen through their combined scent I had tasted on the breeze came into view. Not just her with her blonde hair, large breasts, and lush curves, but his muscular, taller form topped by a mess of similar blond, longer hair, the top portion of which he had pulled back into a short ponytail.

A frown flitted over my brow, but dissipated as my treasure stood, drawing my attention once more. My mouth dried as she tugged on her clothes, hiding her perfect body from me, their joyous laughter reaching across the distance. She smiled at him, the adoration in her hazel-green gaze like a knife to my heart. He caressed her cheek, her hair, his touch gentle on the one I wanted to pamper.

She already belonged to him.

I wanted to race to her, claim my female, but would she want me? Would the bonding energy between mates I had only read about draw her to me, steal her from her male? Mostly human, would she even recognize the connection between us?

The fear of rejection, of being abandoned again sent a knife-like stab through my chest. I had barely survived my love leaving me ten years earlier—nearly burned my home in the mountains to mere ash. How much more pain would being denied my true mate inflict?

Torn, I sat still as the stone beneath me, unmoving and watching as the two lovers prepared a late dinner, their movements in sync as though they had spent centuries together rather than the twenty-something years they appeared to be. I listened to their murmurs, their shared laughter. I studied them as the man banked the fire, and they both crawled back inside their sleeping bag.

I swallowed back my pain and jealousy as they curled together, two warm bodies intertwined, sharing space as only lovers can do.

The long night passed, but I couldn’t bear to leave her. Every cell in my body longed for my mate, and had I been a younger, immature dragon, I would have claimed her without a care for her feelings or her lover’s.

But, how could I inflict on the human male the same pain I had lived with for close to ten years? The heartache, the loneliness of losing the one you love? I hadn’t been given a choice—my love had left without an explanation.

I refused to inflict that on another, but by the time the sun rose, my tortured soul needed something. I needed resolution.

I would give her the chance to choose the mate she should be with or the one she had already attached herself to. It would be her choice—the male’s broken heart her doing, not mine.

My pulse raced and palms grew damp as I drew closer, the delicious aroma of ancient blood in the air flooding my mouth with saliva. I could taste her on my tongue from a hundred yards away. What would it be like once I closed the distance between us? Once I touched her skin? Would the energy crackle the distance between us or pull like a magnet enough to sway my mate into my arms?

Through all my years I never believe in any god, any higher being, but at that moment, I wished for nothing more than to trust in something bigger, something more than mere chance that my mostly-human mate would accept me. Want me.

The closer I drew, the less I cared about the male’s heartache should she choose the one she’d been destined for.

Shouldering a small pack I’d brought along to make it appear I, too, hiked the mountain trail, I moved into sight of the camp, every part of me, my dragon included, determined to have what belonged to me.

The male squatted beside the fire, putting a small pot over the coals.

“Hello,” I called out, not wanting to frighten him.

His blond head jerked up, and as he slowly stood, his blue-eyed gaze meeting mine, the energy I had hoped to share with my female expanded in waves across the short distance and wrapped around me in a connection stronger than I’d ever felt in my life.

I stumbled to a stop as my heart skipped a beat.

My mates. Both of them.

I fought to breathe, to accept what fate had given me. Two of the ancient blood. One male, one female, a bonded pair in need of their third—the necessary trio to create another dragon life.

Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.

Can Bowie cut through the blindfold of lies and surrender to the truth in his heart?

When a barely-legal blonde with a lithe, young body shows up at the Devil’s Outlaw MC strip joint to audition as a dancer, Ian “Bowie” Davies wants nothing more than to burrow between her long legs and claim her. She’s too young for his dominant side though, too innocent for the sharp edges of his darker desires. And way too hot to let another man touch her — a thought that has his hands itching to use his signature knives against any bastard who messes with his angel.

Hannah Harris ran away from home at age eighteen, desperate to escape the prison of her strict parents. Determined to delight in the sins her father preaches against, she puts her ballet talents to work, using a stripper pole to make a living. Dancing for Bowie and his blade has her panting to explore some of the “firsts” she planned to save for her future husband.

But when Bowie and his brothers attempt extortion beyond her parent’s ten-thousand dollar reward for Hannah’s safe return, she’s left with a difficult choice. Offer up the evidence to put the notorious biker gang behind bars, or protect Bowie and chalk the shit-show up as a lesson learned and begin her independent life anew — without the lying bastard who owns her heart.

Can Bowie cut through the blindfold of lies on Hannah’s eyes and surrender the truth in his heart to win her back?

The young woman who had sauntered into my office like she had every intention of dropping to her knees if I told her to disappeared the second I’d crowded close. Close enough to drop her focus to my chest. Close enough her heartbeat thrummed beneath my thumb. Close enough I could feel the purity of her soul as though her body’s energy rippled across the inches separating us.

An inexperienced submissive for sure, and she had my dominant nature kicking and screaming for release — along with my dick strangling in my jeans. Fuck, yes.

“Look at me.”

Her eyelids snapped up, those pale eyes letting me see right into the depths of her.

“How old are you?” I asked, my smile long fucking gone.

“Twenty-one,” she whispered.

“Liar.”

She gulped again, but held my gaze.

“Name?”

“H-Hannah.” She swallowed again as I smoothed my thumb up and down over her thumping artery. “Hannah Morris.”

“Hannah. A pure-as-fuck name for a pure-as-fuck little girl who should be with her mommy and daddy rather than in the devil’s playground,” I murmured, and she straightened, tensing beneath my hold.

“I am not a little girl.” Fire shot from her narrowed eyes as she all but spit the words at me.

I pressed flush against her body, grinding my dick against her hip. “Sassy. I like a little backbone in my women.”

She gasped, her eyes going wide. “Get off me.”

To the point words, but nothing other than desire laced her voice. She made no move to escape either, her hands grasping at my shirt as though hanging on for the ride of her life.

“Twenty-one, hmm? Got proof of that?” She shook her head, and I leaned in closer, my lips a breath from hers, so fucking ready to give her that ride. “So you came in here thinking you could get a job baring your tight body and fucking that pole up on stage without an ID.”

“Yes,” she whispered even though I hadn’t asked a question, her sweet breath jerking my dick in its prison.

“Gonna cost you.”

“Wh-what?”

“Not sure yet.” My lips brushed hers like a feather, far from a kiss, and she moaned. “A kiss?” I suggested.

She swallowed, no longer tense but trembling.

“Mmm, I think so,” I murmured when she didn’t answer, lust and satisfaction simmering throughout my body. “But where?”

I pulled back, and her eyelids fluttered open, her pupils dominating the green of her eyes.

“Here?” I asked, smoothing my thumb over her plump, glossed lips.

“Here?” I brushed my knuckles down over the swell of her right tit, my dick jerking again at the hardness of her nipple beneath my grazing caress. “Or…”

I worked my hand between our bodies, down over the front of her leather skirt until I caressed the smooth, warm skin above her knee.

“Here?” I slid my palm up the inside of her thigh.

Another shudder rippled through her, and she fisted her hands in my shirt.

I rubbed my thumb in circles just shy of her pussy, need like I’d never known taking me to the edge of my self-control, a self-control I prided myself on.

“What’s it going to be, Hannah?” Ragged and low, my voice sent a shiver over her body.

“M-my lips.”

I took her mouth in a bruising kiss, tightening my hold on her neck, tilting her head and thrusting my tongue between her lips that tasted of strawberries and cream. Not just innocent, but fucking untried in every way — she didn’t have a clue what to do with her tongue, so I showed her, sliding alongside hers, tasting, taking until she got the hang of sucking face.

She whimpered, and beyond giving a fuck how old the little temptress was, I cupped her pussy.

Hot and soaked.

Fuck.

She tore her mouth from mine and whimpered.

I licked the sweet taste of her gloss from my lips and pressed the heel of my hand against her clit.

“Oh!” Lower lip between her teeth, she clenched her eyes shut, her brow furrowing as she bucked beneath my touch.

“You like my hand on you.”

She whimpered and ground against me even though she shook her head.

“You’ll like my tongue even more.” I dropped to my knees and shoved her skirt up around her tiny waist. Pink lacy panties — so fucking virginal, I groaned. Goose bumps pebbled her legs, and I lifted my gaze, sliding a finger along the edge of her panties and pushing them aside while grasping her ass cheek with my other hand.

Hannah still had her lower lip between her teeth, eyes clenched shut, hands fisted at her sides.

“Look at me.”

Like a good little girl, she obeyed, and I held her gaze, flicking my tongue out.

Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.

Congratulations to the talented Katherine Wyvern on your new transgender release!

I look forward to diving into the Victorian world you’ve created and going through what sounds like a rollercoaster of emotions.

Hello, and thank you so much for hosting me and my new release, A Muse to Live For.

A Muse to Live For is the third instalment in my loosely interconnected “transgender trilogy”, which includes also Woman as a Foreign Language and Spice & Vanilla. While WaaFL and S&V are very obviously connected (they have two characters in common), the threads connection Spice to Muse are much subtler, so much so that I consider it almost a game with my readers to find them.

Unlike the other two books, which are Contemporary Romance, Muse takes a plunge back into the past and is set in the 1880s.

This is part of why it took me so long to write it (almost a year, on and off). Much as I am familiar with Victorian England from having read so much Dickens, and Conan Doyle, and the Brontë sisters, and a number of other books written or set in that period, whenever one begins to write, one discovers how many details they are still missing. How much did a shave cost? How did you ride a cab? Where would a poor Irish immigrant likely live? How do you wear a bustle dress? How do you fix one if it’s worn?

It became so fascinating to research all these things (and much more) that I spent more time in Victorian London than I had ever intended, and once more, a short story became a novel (story of my life).

The main reason for choosing a period setting however was not the fancy costumes and moody atmosphere, but a desire to write a story about an artist of that amazing period, when the Pre Raphaelites, the Symbolists and the Impressionists were changing the face of art, and to write a transgender character before transgender became a thing, before there were any labels or any sense of belonging to a group.

It is the deepest trip I ever took into the emotions of any two characters, through obsession, depression, love and wonderful fulfilment, and both characters have some autobiographic relevance to me. It’s my favorite story to date.

Blurb:

London, 1884

An artist lives to create. When Nathaniel’s urge to paint died, so did his will to live.

Until the night he meets Gabrielle.

Gabrielle may be just a poor prostitute, but she has the beauty of a Pre-Raphaelite stunner and the otherworldly aura of a fallen angel. She also has a secret. Gabrielle is Gabriel, and when Gabriel’s dark past comes knocking and Gabrielle must abandon her new career as an artist’s model, Nathaniel’s whole world comes crashing down again.

Better to die than living without her love, and the breathtaking creative drive she brought him. But it’s dead easy to die for a woman. Any fool can die for love. To live for it, that takes altogether more courage, doggedness, and imagination.

Excerpt:

I am not sure how to touch Nathaniel. I want him to kiss me again, I want him to hold me, I want him to look at me that way he does in his studio, when he watches every line of my body and sees a woman. And at the same time, I wish he would see me for what I am, all that I am, once and for all, so I don’t have to hide anymore.

So I shed my jacket, and the blouse underneath. I shiver a little in the cold when my arms are bared, and he runs his warm palms on my goosebumps, soothing them.

Then I stand to unbutton my skirts and petticoat, and untie my bustle, and I let it all swish down around my knees, and I stand here naked, in my small chemise, and stockings and corset, and my boots.

I am still silk-skinned and woman shaped.

Except for that one thing.

I steal a glance at his face—I can hardly bear to look at his eyes, standing here so naked—thinking he will wince, or frown. Or scream, what do you know. You can never tell, with a sensitive artistic temperament.

But he does none of these things.

Instead he goes to his knees on the floor, like a man about to propose in some play, and with a sort of mute reverence he strokes my thighs and my buttocks, and the back of my knees, through the stockings. When he lays a kiss and then his forehead on the hard of my hip, where the bone pokes sharply under my skin, I put my hands on his crazy hair, and hold him there, and with the barest, lightest touch of his fingertips he caresses the front of my corset, on my belly, and then down, down.

And to my acute embarrassment, the damn thing shivers to his touch, stiffening, rising.

Well. He has certainly seen me, now. He really has.

He is not screaming.

I pull him to his feet and I step out of my puddled skirts, and gently I undress him. Jacket and shirt and trousers and drawers, socks, everything.

He is as tall as I am, which I had never noticed, because he always stands with his head bent and his shoulders slumped. He’s not muscular, but there is no fat on him either. He has well-built bones under his lumpy clothes—he badly needs a good tailor—and he would be rather handsome if he held himself straight, with his chin up, and didn’t look so much at odds with himself. He’s pale, but not as pale as I am, and there is just the merest spray of hair on his chest.

I caress his skin all over as I undress him, and he looks transfixed, as if it had never occurred to him that it takes two to dance this dance. Perhaps he thought I’d make him spend the night on his knees adoring me.

The heat of his skin is like a deep current, and it draws me to him.

We stand here mute, the only sounds the drumming of the rain and the swish of falling clothes, and gently kissing lips.

When I push him to lie on the bed, I have a moment of dread that he might want to do that to me. I cannot have it. I will not be taken that way ever again.

I’ll make my living giving blowjobs for the rest of my days, I guess.

But I am not afraid of him. I do not believe he’d be capable of hurting a fly, let alone me.

“So, do you fancy that blowjob, finally?” I whisper in his ear, smiling, but he holds me close, too close for me to slide down along his body.

“I love you,” he whispers, his lips on my ear, so that words are made into a caress, “I love you, I love you.”

“Hush,” I whisper back, bearing down on him, grinding my cock on his. “Don’t say such things. It cannot be. It can’t.”

“This night, this once, please, let me say it. I love you, I love you, I love you.” His body rises to meet mine, and I feel those tears spilling now, with joy, and grief, and pity. Pity for him, for me, for both of us, lost in this narrow garret under the drumming rain, orphans in this storm, desperately naked in this terrible iron city.

“Only this once, then,” I whisper. “Tomorrow, you must forget.”

And before he can answer or kiss me again, I slip out of his arms, and down, along his chest and belly, so he cannot see me cry.

I have pleasured so many men this way, but never one I loved, and maybe it’s the same thing, and yet it’s something altogether different. He’s all silk and warmth and heaving life and fire pulsing, and his flesh matters to mine, so that my whole body loves his.

“You—don’t—have—to do this,” he whispers at first, but then he surrenders finally, and lets the pleasure take him.

I told him, the first time we met, that I’d do him for free. Who would have guessed, then, that I would end up doing him for love?

And I don’t know if he’s a virgin—but he is indeed quick. His cock grows even tauter on my tongue, and he breathes in short, hard gasps a few times. When his body arches and heaves and his hand fumbles at my cheek, I hold him, and hold him, and hold him… He comes with a broken moan, hotly. I swallow it all.

On the street I never do. But here, now, with him, I could not bring myself to spit.

Find A Muse to Live For:

Author bio:

I have entered that age when looking at beautiful male models in their prime makes me a cougar, ahem.

Almost all my heroines are short: that’s because I look at the world from hobbit level. Being so small I am three times more concentrated (read: obsessive) than anybody I know. I am exhaustingly creative in writing, arts, crafts… Sometimes my brain gets friction burns from hurtling at such speed from one universe to the next.

I love animals, plants, and occasionally even people.

Like the Highlander I come from a lot of different places. I was born in Italy but lived here and there and consider myself simply and deeply European. I love Europe passionately, its antiquity, its diversity, its quirkiness. All my books are set in Europe, or alternate versions of it.

In each other they found the piece of themselves they hadn’t even realized was missing.

This D/s anthology was put together by writers who hold author, Doris O’Connor, near and dear to their hearts because the genre is one that was near and dear to Doris as an author. #F*ckCancer #WeLoveDoris

My entire life is one bold-faced, fucking lie. Son of Victor Laurent and sole heir to the entire Laurent fortune built up from a few great grandfathers back in the Civil War times, I’ve been raised—groomed—to be the perfect Southern gentleman. Proper and full of self-control, a man who can keep hold on the vices that help me live my daily life of pure, fucking drudgery.

I know what it means to be controlling not just of myself but of the woman who will one day kneel at my feet. The one who belongs to me, however, is promised to another—and claiming what is mine could cost me everything.

Author Bio:

Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.

Alixandre Chastain enjoys the darker side of Paris. A Libertine by trade, no flesh is barred from his roaming hands, no matter what lay betwixt their legs. Except when news of his lustful ways reaches his God-fearing parents, they strip him of title and cast him out. Alixandre’s now adrift and with an uncertain future, but an interesting proposition by Comte Phelipe Richelien promises to replace everything he lost with a new world of decadent pleasure like no other. But can Alixandre submit to his new Master? And will his guarded heart be laid bare by one spoken word—Alabaster.

Author Bio:

Kastil Eavenshade is multi-published author pandering her romantic shenanigans. When not catering to the whims of three rescued kitties, she’s dreaming up her next heart-beating tale. No period in history–past, present, or future–is safe from the clutches of her muse.

Her passions beyond writing are drawing, cooking, and watching Pittsburgh Penguins hockey. She credits her parents for her free spirit as they’ve always supported her in every aspect of her life. Without them, she wouldn’t be here. She finds pleasure in writing anything from fantasy to romance-which sometimes parallel each other.

Camilla Maria Campanelli. I’d caught glimpses of the woman when she popped into my Manhattan gallery—there to collect a commission for the paintings we sold for her. So let’s just say I never expected the wet-dream version of Camilla to sashay into Indigo House, an exclusive member’s only club that catered to very specific clientele with extremely particular desires.

Camilla

The night I stepped out on my balcony, I hadn’t intended to be a voyeur though I ended up being one. And what shocked me even more than my uncharacteristic behavior? I’d actually been aroused watching two strangers get their kink on. But I wasn’t into D/s. I’d never even read those Fifty Shades books all my sisters went on and on about.

So why was I affected?

I needed some real, solid answers. And there was only one way to do that.

Author Bio:

London Saint James has lived in many places but never felt “at home” until she met the real-life man of her dreams and settled down in the beautiful Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. London lives with her husband and their fat cat who thinks he owns them.

As an award-winning, international bestselling author, London is living her childhood dream. She knew all the scribbling she did, that big imagination of hers, and all those clamoring characters running around in her head would pay off someday.

Barry Reid never imagined becoming friends with three Doms and their subs would change his life so dramatically. When he settled into marriage and family life with his wife, Meg, he set aside his dominant tendencies, happy to lead a vanilla life. With Meg’s newfound interest in BDSM it’s up to Barry to connect with his inner Dom and figure out how they can make the lifestyle work for them—even if it’s only in the bedroom.

Author Bio:

Jan Graham is an author of Contemporary Romance and Romantic Suspense. Her stories contain erotic elements, with some including elements of BDSM. She has numerous published titles to her credit, with more to come once she overcomes her current bout of procrastination. Jan lives in Newcastle, Australia where she writes, reads, feeds her Netflix addiction and drinks coffee with friends.

For those who enjoy labels and tags, as well as being an author, Jan is a submissive, an aunt, dyslexic, a lover of all things tempting and naughty (including chocolate), a participant in the BDSM community, a widow, an orphan, and sometimes a wild child.

In short, she is generally a bit of an eccentric who lives her life slightly left of center. You can find out more about Jan and her work by visiting the following links.

Wealthy, charismatic, influential and damn near immortal, Lukan Løvensgård looks like natural Dom material, and in fact he has never, but never submitted to anyone in his long life. But among all the bizarre and fantastic people roaming the far planet of Cydonia, there is one who stole his old, cold heart.

Her love comes at a price. Complete surrender.

With her impressive presence and unusual equipment, Helenay is the hottest and trendiest professional Domme in Neu Venedig and she hardly has the time to top for pleasure these days. But she knows what her old friend Lukan needs, something he never suspected. Release from power.

Author Bio:

I have entered that age when looking at beautiful male models in their prime probably makes me a cougar, ahem.

Almost all my heroines are short: that’s because I look at the world from hobbit level. Being so small I am three times more concentrated (read: obsessive) than anybody I know. I am exhaustingly creative in writing, arts, crafts… Sometimes my brain gets friction burns from hurtling at such speed from one universe to the next.

I love animals, plants, and occasionally even people.

Like Highlander I come from a lot of different places. I was born in Italy but lived here and there and consider myself simply and deeply European. I love Europe passionately, its antiquity, its diversity, its quirkiness. All my books are set in Europe, or alternate versions of it.

Major Oliver Cantor, newly back from the continent, has always wanted Deborah. However she is an innocent. A lady who has no idea just what Oliver wants, needs and desired.

Or does she?

She knows he is dominant and wants someone to be his submissive.

She also knows it should be her.

Now all she has to do is persuade him of that fact.

You’d think it would be easy, but…

Author Bio:

Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.

She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.

Her very understanding, and long-suffering DH, is used to his questions unanswered, the dust bunnies greeting him as he walks through the door, and rescuing burned offerings from the Aga. (And passing her a glass of wine as she types furiously.)

Charlie has never been in love because he’s never believed in happily ever after. He prides himself on being a good friend and a good Dom, and that’s always been enough for him, except lately nothing feels right. He doesn’t know if he’s having a mid-life crisis or what, but his best friend suddenly looks hot as hell, and nothing about that is normal.

Ryan’s straight friend Charlie has always had his back: when he came out, when he got married, and when his husband died. He’d do anything for the guy he’s been secretly in love with forever. So when Charlie suddenly proposes a spanking scene under the guise of “relaxing” him, he almost runs the opposite direction. Except, what if this is his one chance to finally show Charlie what real love feels like?

Author Bio:

Erin M. Leaf is a romance novel devotee, the steamier the better, with a specialty in edgy erotic tension.

Ex-boxer Mike Logan struggles to put a brutal past behind and make ends meet as a bus driver. When a young runaway settles for an all-night ride, he seizes the chance to do a good deed—get her home safely. But first, they’ll drive around and talk.

What he doesn’t anticipate is that this broken night angel is also a sexy little minx needing a lot more…and not just the gentle kind.

Author Bio:

Award-winning author Lea Bronsen likes her reads hot, fast, and edgy, and strives to give her own stories the same intensity. After venturing into dirty inner-city crime drama with her debut novel Wild Hearted, she divides her writing time between psychological thriller, romantic suspense, historical romance, and dark erotic romance.

As chief of staff to the governor of Florida, Carter has a well-deserved rep as a bastard extraordinaire. But when he’s dealing with two governors for the price of one on Christmas Eve, will the Master find himself outmatched and outmaneuvered by his wily political pets?

Note: This standalone short story takes place after Chief (Governor Trilogy 3) and can be read as a standalone independent from the trilogy.

Author Bio:

Author Lesli Richardson, who is better-known by her more prolific wild-child Tymber Dalton pen name, lives in the Tampa Bay region of Florida with her husband (aka “The World’s Best Husband™”) and too many pets. She writes a wide variety of heat levels and genres, from mainstream sci-fi all the way to scorching ménage.

The two-time EPIC award winner and part-time Viking shield-maiden in training loves to shoot skeet and play D&D with her friends. She’s also the bestselling author of over one hundred and fifty books and counting, including The Reluctant Dom, the Governor Trilogy, the Suncoast Society series, the Love Slave for Two series, the Triple Trouble series, and many others.

She lives in her own little world, but it’s okay—they all know her there.

Mallory Brown doesn’t go home with strangers, and while she’s all for a great spanking, she doesn’t do BDSM relationships. Fantasizing is more her speed. And when she catches a glimpse of Master Murphy, fantasies fill her brain.

But Master Murphy has other plans. He enters her life full-steam and won’t take no for an answer. While she’s compelled to say yes, is she really ready to say goodbye to her world as she knows it to become permanently entwined with His?

Author Bio:

Ely Valey is a writer of sizzling, sexy romance who firmly believes in happy ever after. From paranormal to contemporary, fantasy, or historical, she enjoys exploring her characters’ darker side and writing stories about tortured heroes, strong heroines, and all that comes between them and their love.

When she’s not writing, she can be found walking in the Spanish countryside with her black Lab and Golden Retriever mix, exploring castles, or enjoying some tapas with her friends and family.

Cain Silvers is the Captain of one of the nation’s best Hotshot fire fighter groups there is, and his world has turned upside-down when his best friend’s kid sister, Chloe Crowley joins the team. Chloe has always made him uneasy with her attraction to him, something he refused to act on because of who she was and how innocent she is.

Chloe wants to make a difference in the world, and following her passion to become one of the few females in an all-male industry is just the start. She’s set on proving herself to her team, but still follows her own rules, ones that could get her into a lot of trouble.

Passion collides with desire in their story, leading up to actions that could burn everybody.

Author Bio:

DC Stone has over sixteen years of investigative experience, including working as a criminal investigator in the United States military. She currently works as an internal affairs investigation manager by day and a romantic suspense author by night. She has her Master’s degree in Criminal Justice and is dubbed, “The Investigative Whisper.” She provides numerous workshops that help authors gain insight into “digging” into a character’s mind to better understand motives, create suspense, and help maintain conflict.

When she isn’t trying to solve a new puzzle in the world of fraud, she is engulfed with coffee, her laptop, and all those crazy characters in her head. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America, New Jersey Romance Writers, RomVets, RWA Kiss of Death, and the Liberty State Fiction Writers. She served as the 2014 Vice President and Conference Chair for NJRW. Find her at the following stops: Facebook PAGE, Facebook PROFILE, Twitter, and her Website.

Happy Wednesday, and thanks again to Angelica Dawson for organizing the MidWeekTeases!

This week’s tease is taken from my ménage erotica HIGH-RISK FEVER. In this scene, we’re continuing where we left off: Anne has brought Micaela some medicine…

* * *

She searched for ways to keep their interaction professional. Focusing on his sickness was the only thing that could take her mind off of his sensuality. What would help fight his fever?

She nodded to his pullover. “You should take off your clothes.” Her face heated. God, the words had come out too fast, too soon. She couldn’t believe her audacity. As he gave a small smile, she explained, “It’ll help bring your fever down.”

He swallowed, and winced. “Fever is good.” His voice sounded raspy.

“I know. A high fever can be useful on the first day of sickness. But I think—”

Her instincts told her to put a hand on his forehead like a mother examining a sick child. But she couldn’t. It was hard enough to stand in front of this stud and passively receive the warmth emanating from his body—and ignore the tease in his glowing eyes. Her impulses had proved treacherous lately, and she feared they would bring her straight into his arms.

Brian. Cold fear rushed through her. Remember Brian!

She took a deep breath, avoided Micaela’s stare, and tried to control her choking voice. “I think what you need now is to bring the fever down.” She had read about it in mommy magazines. When a child had a high fever, the best way to stabilize its body temperature was to remove all the clothes and keep only a thin cloth of cotton on.

He shrugged with a white-toothed grin before proceeding to remove his pullover. Once more, damp heat drifted to her with the smell of musk and sweat, though not an unpleasant one. She couldn’t help breathing in his manly scent and wanting to memorize it.

When he folded the sweater over the chair arm and straightened, she stifled a gasp of admiration. The man was better looking than any god from Greek mythology. Dim light shone on his tanned and perfectly sculpted torso. She could only gape and stare, transfixed. Blood pulsed in her temples.

Now was a good time to leave. She’d helped him and had no business staying. From the way her body reacted to him, the situation could quickly get out of control. But she was too weak.

His dark, seducing eyes held hers and seemed to scrutinize her reaction—before a new coughing fit forced him to lean between his knees again. Scorching barks filled the room. His torso jerked back and forth, thrashing his long hair around. He coughed so hard and so long she thought he would throw up, and she stood helpless before him.

When the coughing stopped, he drew ragged breaths, groaned, and rubbed his face.

Wanting to do something to help—maybe just put a palm on his shoulder to calm him—Anne stepped forward.

With a grunt, he shot his hands to the backs of her legs, behind her skirt, and pulled her toward him. She stumbled between his spread legs with a small cry, knees pressing against the edge of the chair. He buried his face in her lap, guttural moans drowned in her skirt.

She should have pushed him away but didn’t.

Face nestled against her, he lifted her skirt and stroked her naked thighs with hard hands, sculpting her muscles, heating the skin—probably not from sexual teasing, but need, as if rough handling could ease the pain in his throat and lungs.

He moved forward on the chair, and his hot crotch met her knees. Her inner thighs and stomach filled with such intense heat, she couldn’t move. Her corrupt body overruled every reasonable thought and willingly melted into his forceful embrace. She gasped as her traitorous pussy reacted, opening and wetting with lust.

Against her will, she reached down, found his head, and entwined trembling fingers in the sweaty black locks. She pulled at his hair, pressed him to her burning core. There was no stopping, no reasoning.

Micaela’s hot, quick breaths heated the fabric of her skirt. He moaned, and the rumble resonated inside her. His groin hardened against her knees, the erection evident. With one strong hand on her butt, he moved underneath her skirt with the other and stroked up her inner thigh until meeting the wet panties.

Gasping again from the sharp rush of desire, she spread her legs like a cheap whore and allowed his fingers to explore her innermost secret and precious place. She closed her eyes, breathed deep, and followed each of Micaela’s teasing moves. His fingers not only crept inside her panties like thieves, but took possession of every sensitive part of her pussy. No doubting his experience. One by one, he parted her thick folds, explored the inner lips, and trailed the tingling skin approaching her clit.

She whimpered from sharp lust. Her breathing hitched, and her juices ran as she anticipated the bolt of lightning that would soon rush to her womb.

But instead of touching her tiny point of nerves, he went back with slow, precise movements and stopped at the entrance of her cunt, lingering. What a tease! She grunted impatience. The hard cock pressing against her knees left no question about the effort it took for him to wait.

Unwilling to cooperate, she pushed forward, pressing her cunt against his fingers. Two slid in, and she jerked her head back with a small cry of satisfaction as they grazed her inner walls. A new, intense wave of heat washed over her. Her muscles contracted around his hard fingers, demanded to be invaded, conquered, brought to another world.

He chuckled into her lap. “You so wet. So hot.”

Her eyes flew open. She’d forgotten other sounds existed in life than ragged breaths and moans.

With a rumble in his throat, he removed his warm hand from her panties and let her skirt fall. Cold air brushed the insides of her thighs, replacing moist heat as he backed off, though his other hand stayed curled on her butt cheek, each finger deep in her skin, as if he didn’t want to let go quite yet.

Why did he move away? She peeked down at the same time as he looked up.

His dark, mischievous eyes met hers, long locks hanging in his face. He grinned and shook his hair back before opening his mouth and placing glistening fingers on his pink tongue, holding her gaze with a gleam of naughtiness. God, he was such a tease, wrapping those sexy lips around his digits and sucking!

She prepared for a new round of seduction when he frowned, took his fingers out, and stared at them. Suspicion marring his features, he shot her a glance before sniffing his hand.

Her chest tightened. What was wrong, did she smell? Due to the power loss, she hadn’t been able to shower this morning, but she had washed with a cloth and soapy water. Surely that had to be good enough.

He looked up again, black eyes hardening. “Why you so wet?”

Wet? She was so engulfed in desire, it took a moment to comprehend his words.

Then it dawned on her. Oh mon Dieu. She was wet because Brian had come inside her in the cellar.

Copyright @ 2018 Lea Bronsen

Two young and indecently handsome bicyclists visit a village in the French Alps during the summer holidays. Forced by a raging storm to spend the night at the local bed & breakfast, they invade the quiet lives of hostess Anne and her husband, Brian.

A power outage plunges the foursome into darkness, encouraging new liaisons to form, life-long secrets to be unveiled, and steamy lessons to be learned. But once the storm moves on, can the four find a balance and resume their normal lives?

Emmie — I overheard my father promise my hand in marriage to a man who is so cold I’m not sure he even has a heart. So I did what any young woman would do. I ran. My sister, Federal Agent Lupita Montoya, gave me sanctuary in the US and helped me file the proper paperwork so I could stay indefinitely. Now Lupita is in prison and my time is running out. My father and Ernesto will be coming for me. When Lupita sends me to the Dixie Reapers compound in Alabama, I know they’re my last hope. I just didn’t count on falling for one of them.

Tank — The hot little Latina I’ve had my eye on for three weeks is in trouble, and the time for waiting is over. I thought I’d claim her, get those Spanish bastards to back off, but then she knocked me off my feet. Emmie is really Emelda Montoya, sister to the woman I chased around Christmas, and someone my club owes a debt. It makes Emmie hands off, but I’ve never been good at backing down, especially when I see something I want. And I want Emmie to be mine. She’s over a decade younger than me, but I’m not going to let something like age stand in my way, and I’m sure as hell not going to let her mobster father get between us. I’ll bury him if I have to, along with that sick bastard, Ernesto.

But the more digging my club does, the more twisted the tale becomes. For the first time in my life, I’m not sure we can handle the trouble that’s landed on our doorstep, but I will die trying to protect the woman I’m falling for, the woman I accidentally knocked up, the woman I call wife.

Warning: Contains some violence and some darker themes. If you’re looking for a sweet read, this isn’t it. There’s melt your panties sex and a biker who will stop at nothing to protect the woman he loves.

The new waitress at the diner was a cute thing, and familiar somehow. Her dark hair hung down her back in curls, nearly falling to her waist even with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. It was the first thing I’d noticed. The second had been the killer curves that would be more than a handful. I’d always had a thing for short, curvy women. Her skin was flawless, even though she looked overly tired with dark circles under her eyes. Fatigue seemed to be weighing her down, and I noticed she struggled to keep up. She’d popped up a few weeks ago, and I’d been here nearly every day since the first glimpse I’d had of her. It was her eyes that seemed so familiar.

“Isn’t she a little young for you?” Wire asked, nodding toward my obsession.

I shrugged. It was true enough, she didn’t look very old, and I preferred my women closer to thirty, if not older. Didn’t mean I couldn’t look. Woman with a body like that, it was really damn hard not to stare. I got hard just thinking about that perfect ass of hers, bent over as she begged to be fucked. I wondered if she was a screamer.

I wasn’t the only one noticing her. Several of the male customers checked her out. I’d even seen one try to grab her ass, but she’d managed to twist away. I’d been about two seconds from getting up and handling the situation, but she’d kept going like it hadn’t happened. Made me wonder if she dealt with that shit all the time, and it only pissed me off. I’d never condoned men taking what wasn’t offered. There was a difference in fucking a willing woman and trying to grab someone who didn’t want your attention. Some assholes learned that the hard way, usually after I’d put my fist through their face to teach them some manners.

My conscience pricked when I thought about Wraith’s woman, Rin. I’d nearly tossed her out on her ass the first night she’d appeared at our gates. If I’d done that, she’d be dead right now. I’d been an asshole to her, and I wasn’t proud of myself. At the time, I’d been hurting over a stupid cunt who had tried to trick me into staying with her, and I’d taken it out on poor Rin. Blair had been a complete bitch, but I hadn’t gotten away soon enough. I’d apologized to Rin for my behavior since then, but I knew Wraith wouldn’t forgive me anytime soon.

The petite waitress didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would string men along, unlike the woman I’d been seeing up until two years ago. I’d found out Blair had several stallions in her stable, confronted her about, and then she’d tried to trick me into believing I’d gotten her pregnant. I’d strung her along a little longer, until I could prove her to be a liar. She hadn’t soured me on women, though. Pissed me off good and proper, but I still got my dick wet at the clubhouse often enough. No, the woman who had fucked me over in my early twenties had soured me on relationships. Blair was my first attempt to be with a woman longer than a few days, and look how that had turned out.

The little Latina waitress had a name tag that said Emmie and the name was as cute as she was. My brothers had given me hell, telling me I should just ask her out. I was always careful not to sit in her section. I’d noticed the first time we’d come in after she’d been hired she froze when she saw us enter the diner. The blood had drained from her face, and I’d thought she might faint. It wasn’t the first time a woman had been afraid of us, and I doubted it would be the last. I knew I was more intimidating than most with my height and size. I wasn’t the enforcer for my club without reason. Someone started a fight, I could finish it, usually with them requiring a coroner when I was done.

“Are we going to eat here all the damn time just because you want to bang the hot little Hispanic girl?” Tempest asked. “Because the food is decent enough, but I’m starting to get tired of it.”

“No one said you had to come along,” I told him, my gaze still locked on Emmie.

“And miss it when you finally find your balls and go talk to her?” he asked. “No, until you man the fuck up and ask her out, I’ll just keep tagging along. Might be worth it if she shoots you down. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman turn you away, except that federal agent. That one over there, she doesn’t look like someone who would be interested in a guy like you.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“For one, she’s what? Five feet nothing to your six feet five? How the hell would that even work?” Tempest asked.

I looked over at him and raised a brow. “Really? Do you need lessons? Is that why you’re still single? Not keeping the ladies happy in the bedroom?”

Tempest flipped me off, and I went back to watching Emmie.

No one knew her story. I’d asked around, but she was a complete unknown. No family in the area, and I’d heard she was staying at some shit motel on the other end of town. It wasn’t safe, and I’d taken to driving by there when I knew she was going home from work. Even though I made sure she got into her room without any problems, it was impossible to guarantee her safety past that. Not unless I camped out at her doorstep all night.

The bell over the door jingled, and Emmie went deathly pale, dropping the plate she’d been carrying. It shattered at her feet, but she was frozen in place. My gaze locked onto the men who had just entered the diner. It was obvious she recognized them, even though I didn’t, and I made it my mission in life to know all the big players in town. These men with their expensive suits, three hundred dollar haircuts, and arrogance weren’t small fish. They also didn’t look all that young.

“Emelda, it’s time to do your duty,” one of them said.

“How did you find me?” she asked, her voice soft and shaky.

“That doesn’t matter. Your fiancé is here, and he’s willing to forgive this transgression,” the man said, waving a hand at the guy standing next to him.

Fiancé? I hadn’t noticed a ring on her finger in all the days I’d been here. And yeah, I’d looked. I might be an asshole at times, but I never poached. If I’d have thought she belonged to someone else, I’d have backed off. Not that I’d really made a move yet anyway.

“I’m not going with either of you,” she said, tipping her jaw up.

The men advanced on her, and I knew I had a decision to make. Stand back and let things play out, or step in and extract the little angel from a situation she clearly wanted to avoid. I didn’t know who these men were, but it didn’t matter right then. They scared her, and that put them at the top of my list of assholes who needed to disappear.

I pushed my chair back and made my way over to her, but she didn’t even look at me. Her hands were clenched at her sides, but I could see the fear in her eyes, and I was willing to bet these men could too. They came closer, pausing a moment as I stepped up behind Emmie. I wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her back against my body.

“Everything all right, baby?” I asked. “These men bothering you?”

“Stay out of this,” the supposed fiancé said. “Emelda is mine, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll just walk away. This is family business.”

“Family business?” I asked. “Then I guess I’ll just have to stick around, seeing as how Emmie is my woman.”

BLURB

Jonny Hayes, president of the Fallen Gliders MC, can’t remember the last time a woman got him up or off. With the club under fire and an inside snitch spilling their secrets, the last thing he needs in his life is a curvy blonde on the run. Even if she does make his hands itch to redden her sweet ass.

The law refuses to protect Alexa Thorne from her ex, a Silent Demon who thinks she’s still his property. Bruised but not broken, she runs north in search of her friend—and a safe place to escape—but instead finds herself surrounded by a rival gang. Vouched for and under the Glider’s protection, Alexa refuses to let a man touch her again—even if their alpha president makes her body burn to submit to him.

Jonny vows to keep his hands to himself, but the undeniable pull between the two cannot be ignored. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe, even if the consequences of his plan costs him his club, his brothers, and his freedom.

Damnit. My heartbeat kicked up a few notches, and my panties were done for, but my head. My head screamed retreat loud enough I questioned the wisdom of making “friends”.

Jonny’s gaze landed on my face, and I felt the scrutiny of his intense eyes across the kitchen.

Janie threw herself into Hawk’s arms, legs wrapped around his waist as she attacked his mouth.

Jonny glanced at the two of them sucking face, and turned back toward me, one eyebrow raised.

I found myself laughing beneath my breath and shrugging. “Guess they kind of like each other,” I said, my voice a little shaky.

“Guess so.” He slipped his leather jacket off his shoulders, and my mouth dried.

Nothing hotter than a ripped man in a tight, white t-shirt. While Jonny probably had a handful of years—if not ten—on me, the man sure took care of himself. A few lines lay at the corner of his eyes, and gray hinted in the dark hair above his temples, but beneath his neck? He could have been taken for a twenty-something with the hard dips and valleys of his body. Black leather pants clung to every inch of him from the waist down.

Saliva rushed back to coat my mouth, and I swallowed while ripping my gaze off him to focus on the carrots. My hand trembled, and I put the knife down, deciding there were more than enough carrots chopped for four salads.

“Hope you boys are hungry,” Janie said, a little breathless. “Want to go fire up the grill with me, baby?”

“Hmm.” Hawk hummed his agreement and grabbed a couple beers from the fridge.

I busied myself putting the carrots on top of the four bowls of lettuce Janie had readied.

“Be right back!” Janie giggled and scooted out the door once more with Hawk.

Jonny stayed behind, beer in hand, focus on me. “How are you?”

I had to swallow again from drool and nerves alike. “Better than yesterday,” I said, trying for a smile.

“Get some sleep last night?”

“Finally, yes.”

“Hawk told me you’re going to stay with them for a while.”

I nodded and moved toward the table to put the salads by each plate. The weight of Jonny’s stare kept my heartbeat thumping, my skin tingling.

“You’re welcome at the club.”

My attention shot toward him even though Hawk had already told Janie as much over the phone earlier in the day. Jonny swigged from his bottle of beer, dark gaze on my face while swallowing.

“Hawk says you’re good people, and I trust him above everyone else.”

Sudden tears filled my eyes, and I turned away to put the final salad on the table.

“Hey.” The warmth of his touch on my elbow stilled me. “You okay?”

A mere foot from me, the slight scent of soap, hops, and mint clinging to him weakened me in the best way possible. “Y-yeah,” I managed to say, but didn’t pull away from the first man’s touch I’d experienced without cringing.

Jonny glanced down to his hand still cupping my elbow and lifted his focus once more to my face, a question in his eye.

Temptation to lean into him, to accept the comfort he offered, played with my mind, and I stared up into eyes darker than the smoothest chocolate. Heated energy charged between us, making it hard for me to breathe.

Jonny’s gaze flitted down to my lips, and I realized I’d licked the lower without meaning to.

His bottle clinked on the table as he set it down, and my breath caught again as he lifted his hand and brushed my hair back over my shoulder, his fingertips feather-light over the skin of my neck.

Goosebumps spread down over my entire body, and I shivered, completely trapped by his gaze and torn between wanting to close the distance between us and scurrying away to find a hole to hide in.

“You and your gorgeous curves are one temptation I don’t need right now,” he murmured, his focus dropping to my lips again, “but I sure as hell want.”

Good Lord almighty, the man didn’t waste time or mince words. Tell him ditto or pull away?

She sat on the edge of the bed, my white t-shirt hiding her perfect tits, her blonde hair a rumpled mess. Lips still swollen. Shoulders relaxed, and makeup smeared around her bright eyes.

“You’re gorgeous,” I muttered, fisting my cock.

She glanced down at the movement beneath the comforter, her cheeks tinging pink and nipples pebbling beneath my shirt. “Want some coffee?” she asked, her voice more breathless than a few seconds earlier.

I pushed the blankets down over my body, thrusting into my hand while baring my cock. “I’d rather have you ride me.”

She swallowed, her gaze flitting to my face as the pulse leapt in her neck.

“But coffee’s good,” I said when she didn’t speak or make a move.

“You held back last night.”

I nodded, still lazily stroking my cock.

Alexa licked her lower lip, glancing once more at my dick. “Do you … like to hurt women in a sexual way?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“Only if they want me to.”

“Spanking?”

I bit back my groan at the memory of her plump ass. “Yes.”

“Pulling hair? Biting?” She met my gaze once more, her eyes flitting from one of mine to the other as though hoping to read the truth of my answer.

“Yes, and yes,” I said, my hand stilling. “But not without consent or safewords,”

She nodded and climbed atop me, lifting my shirt so her bare pussy rested against the top of my hand and my cock.

“Christ.” I breathed out the word and released my hold on myself to grasp her bare hips lightly beneath the shirt.

She ground her pussy against my aching length, slickening me with her arousal. “I-I’d like to try all that with you,” she whispered, staring into my eyes, “but right now, I just want you to fuck me.”

She nodded and shifted her hips, notching me against her opening. “Clean, too.”

“So am I.”

I flexed as she moved back, and we came together in one rocking motion.

“Fuck.” I clenched my jaw, the wetness of her heat clasping me. “Never gone without before,” I said between my teeth, fighting to keep from digging my fingers into her hips and taking what I wanted.

Alexa slid forward along my length and sank back down, her lower lip between her teeth.

“Take off the t-shirt,” I said. “Touch those beautiful tits for me.”

Red infused her cheeks, but she did as told, her small hands lifting the heaviness of her breasts.

With a heave of breath, I sat up and latched onto the pebbled nipple of one she held, breathing in her sweet, peach scent, the desire to bite rather than lick racing through my blood.

Her breath caught as she lifted and lowered over my cock, her wetness leaking down over my balls, pussy clenching with every gentle scrape of my teeth over her hardened nub.

“Harder,” she whispered, and I thrust up into her as she sank onto my shaft again. I went for a small nibble, and she moaned, her back arching, pressing her tit into my face. “Yes…”

Her whispered word fucking thrilled me, and I nibbled again, thrusting up into her as her pussy clamped down on me.

“Oh, God.” She whimpered and gasped while moving against me, her body a fucking vision of motion, swaying and grinding.

I slid a hand around her backside, my fingertips trailing up and down her ass crack while she moved on me. As she lifted, I gathered moisture off my dick and slid a fingertip over her asshole as she fucked down onto me again.

Her breath caught, and she stayed impaled, circling her hips in time with my finger rimming her ass. I released my mouth from her breast with a pop. “Like that?” I asked, pressing lightly.

She whimpered and nodded, eyes clenched shut, pulse thrumming in her neck as she ground against me.

I thrust with my hips and slid my finger past her ring of muscle.

“God.” Her breath left in a rush, and she tipped her head back, her neck an offering I couldn’t pass up.

I latched onto the softness of her skin at the base of her neck, and she began to rock on my lap. “More,” she whispered, her hands grabbing hold of my head to keep me close.

Teeth, or finger in her ass, I wasn’t sure which she meant, so I went with both, nipping her flesh with my teeth in open mouth kisses and finger sliding in and out of her tight hole while she rode me.

“God, yes.” She gasped and shuddered, her fingernails digging into my scalp. “Fuck, yes.” Her pussy spasmed. “Jonny!” She cried out my name a second time as her inner walls clamped down on my thrusting cock, and I captured her mouth, swallowing every whimper and moan of her climax while shooting my cum deep inside her.

Nothing fucking compared to erupting in a woman’s body without the strangling hold of a damn condom. Nothing. Fucking perfection, and I wasn’t about to give up what I’d just found—fuck the Demons, and fuck her ex. I just needed to show her I could be the man for her.

Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.

In the Land of Ice and Darkness, time-traveller Ashley faces the terrible Thief of Souls

(The Time For Alexander Series Book 6)

Ashley and Alexander come face to face with Volterix, the terrifying Thief of Souls – a druid with powers to stop time and change the future of the world.

Ashley and Alexander must travel to the far north in order to stop the Volterix from irrevocably changing time. With Alexander’s soul, and Paul as his puppet, the druid hopes he can stop the Roman legions from conquering Europe and thus save the druids from extinction. But Ashley knows that will not happen without the mysterious Time-Senders erasing all their lives.

In order to save herself, her children, and the men she loves, she has to somehow get Alexander’s soul back and find the druid’s lair.

Excerpt:

If you’ve always lived in the modern world, and never had the chance to take a trip back in time, then you can never imagine how sweet the air was before the invention of fossil fuels. In my daytime, the earth was surrounded in a faint haze of pollution. Here, there was nothing but the faint scent of wood smoke. Otherwise, the air was as clean and pristine as the beginning of the world. The water was clean, the air was clean, the ocean was full of fish, and wild animals still roamed the forests.
As a matter of fact, there was one right in front of me.
Nothing too scary, just a large, grey wolf. He was sitting in a clearing staring at me, and something in his yellow gaze was reassuring. He was not hungry, and his eyes seemed to tell me that he was just curious about the pale, two-legged beast shuffling noisily through the forest. It was his forest. He lived there. We were just passing through, but he had been born beneath the towering pines and would live his whole life there before dying beneath the very same trees. We were his guests for the short time we stayed there.
There was a swift stream nearby, and I washed myself. I was very careful to leave everything just as I’d found it.
The wolf had vanished silently. I suppose he was somewhere close by keeping an eye on us. The thought that maybe it was a druid flickered like a spark through my mind, but three thousand years of civilization put the spark out as if I’d dumped a whole bucket of water on it. Absurd. People don’t change themselves into animals. They simply can’t. It is impossible, going against all the laws of science and nature. Matter doesn’t change into other matter. The wolf was a wolf and that was that.
Of course, I’d come across a monkey claiming to be a druid. He could write in Greek on a wax tablet and pluck silver coins out of purses, but even that could be explained – by thin layers of wax, by patient training. I didn’t for an instant believe the monkey had really once been a man.
Or did I? I sat down at the water’s edge and stared at the flowing stream. Small green leaves floated in eddies. I plucked one and nibbled it. Watercress was one of the edible plants I was capable of recognizing. I sighed for no particular reason and glanced up at the sky, visible through the canopy. Sunlight dappled my face and arms. A trout splashed in the stream, startling me. I wished I knew what was going to happen next. I had the frightening feeling that I was cut off from the world. I hated the way we were being herded along towards an unknown destination. There had to be a way to escape, or at least turn the situation more towards our advantage.
What frightened me the most was that a group of powerful men had stolen Alexander’s soul somehow and had decided to change the future by using Paul to unite the tribes of Gaul. If that happened, the Gauls would defeat the Roman Empire. Progress would be stopped. The druids were leery of writing and still made human sacrifices. If they succeeded in their plans, history, as I knew it, would be erased, along with Alexander, me, and everyone we knew and loved.

– Jennifer Macaire is an American living in Paris. She likes to read, eat chocolate, and plays a mean game of golf. She grew up in upstate New York, Samoa, and the Virgin Islands. She graduated from St Peter and Paul High School in St Thomas and moved to NYC where she modelled for five years for Elite. She went to France and met her husband at the polo club. All that is true. But she mostly likes to make up stories

The #evernighties Thursday Weekly Author Blog Challenge is a once-a-week blogging adventure brought to you exclusively by Evernight authors. Each week, we answer a new question (listed below and borrowed from MFRW.org) and the answers will be featured on the Evernight Reader’s Group on Facebook, as well as our own blogs and social media platforms. Check out the group or follow the #evernighties tag to see how other authors answered this week’s question!

So, the topic of the day is, “A book that has influenced my life”.

More than a romance author, I am a suspense/thriller/horror author. More than steamy sex scenes, I love fast, hair-raising, edge-of-your-seat action scenes. I thrive delving in the dirty and the gory, I dig imagining blood and brain splatter, and I grin anticipating how my descriptions will make readers cringe. Yeah, I am that sadistical kind of author that goes for the kill, sometimes achingly slowly, building the tension, sometimes lashing out brutal words like a punch to your gut.

Where did I get all that nastiness from, you ask, in the world of litterature? Well, if I mention Mo Hayder, James Patterson, Lisa Gardner, Karen Slaughter (such a fitting name!), Ed McBain, Robert Ludlum, Jonathan Kellerman, Chelsea Cain, Ian Rankin, and of course Stephen King, to name just a few, you get the drift. But more than any other author, Cody McFadyen has lit my murderous fuse and given me the lethal inspiration I’ve been feeding on since, with his first book Shadow Man:

To answer the topic question – has this book influenced my life? I would definitely say so, as it has inspired me to write and thus helped me become a published author, an endeavor that has completely changed the “quality” of my inner, private being.

Here is what I wrote in a review a few years ago:

“This book is without a single doubt my all-time favorite, one I have read again and again, a true source of inspiration on so many levels. 1 – The writing is top-notch, intense, pulls you forward, urges you to read on. 2 – It’s so full of emotions and gore and frantic action and suspense, you’re constantly sweating and holding your breath as you turn the pages at ligthtning speed. 3 – The main character is so alive, you crawl into her skin and feel her pain and think her thoughts before they’re even put to paper.

I want more of this, so much more, and although the sequels are very well done, I have yet to read a book that has shaken me so thoroughly and torn, stolen my soul as I was engulfed in the story and taken away to a different world.

Whoooo! I’d give it 10 stars if I could. But let it be said – it’s not for the soft-hearted.”

Happy Wednesday, and thanks again to Angelica Dawson for organizing the MidWeekTeases!

This week’s tease is taken from my ménage erotica HIGH-RISK FEVER. In this scene, we’re continuing where we left off: Micaela is sick, so Anne brings him some medicine…

* * *

Pulse racing, Anne closed the window and faced Micaela with her hands clenched at her sides. She didn’t know what else to do with them. Nervousness and anticipation raced through her. They hadn’t been face to face since he’d approached her last night, naked and very aroused.

God. The memory sent sweet tingles to her inner thighs, and from the gleam in his eye, he seemed to be recalling the same sensual encounter.

Yet, she couldn’t help being pissed at him for trying to seduce her. Because she now knew he had a boyfriend—which meant he’d betrayed both Todd and her. His behavior ultimately was root to her immoral thoughts and Brian’s desperate reaction in the cellar. She could not let Micaela come close again. She could not slip.

He glanced from the unmade bed to the pile of folded sheets on the desk before slumping on the chair with a throaty sigh.

Anne bit her lower lip while searching for the right words to say. “How are you?”

He shrugged. Keeping his shiny black eyes locked on hers, he put a hand on his throat. “Sore.”

“Yes, I heard you cough.” She pointed to the bottles on the desk. “I brought you some medicine and pastilles for your throat.”

“Grazie.” He gave a weak nod, winced, and closed his eyes, as if in pain. In the next moment, he leaned forward to cough into his hands with his elbows on his knees. The coughing sounded like the barking of a big dog and shook his body. Long, black locks hung from his head like a curtain, jerking with each contortion.

Her stomach knotted. He might be a total stranger, but all that had happened last night inevitably connected them on some level. Which level, she wasn’t sure.

When the coughing subsided, he groaned and ran a hand along his flustered face, brushing aside a few hairs glued to his skin.

She took the box of pastilles on the table and went toward him, stopping a half-meter from his feet. Damp heat oozed from him. “Do you want a glass of cold water?”

He shrugged and clenched his teeth, as if speaking would be too painful.

“Cold water helps soothe the pain.” She opened the box. The sour-sweet scent of licorice rose to her nostrils.

Eyes feverish, he reached out a trembling palm.

She dropped the candy into it, careful to avoid physical contact—both due to the risk of contagion and because she didn’t want to know what it would feel like to touch his hot skin.

He put the pastille in his mouth and leaned back in the chair with his gaze fixed on her. Breathing deep, he sucked on the candy, but couldn’t seem to relax. Each intake of air caused his features to tighten. Tiny beads of sweat appeared all over his face and ran alongside his temples and bearded cheeks.

She closed the box and eyed him for a moment, trying to consider him as a patient and not an object of her fantasy. A difficult thing to achieve with the obvious tension between them and the way he stared into her eyes. At any moment, he could unbalance her.

Copyright @ 2018 Lea Bronsen

Two young and indecently handsome bicyclists visit a village in the French Alps during the summer holidays. Forced by a raging storm to spend the night at the local bed & breakfast, they invade the quiet lives of hostess Anne and her husband, Brian.

A power outage plunges the foursome into darkness, encouraging new liaisons to form, life-long secrets to be unveiled, and steamy lessons to be learned. But once the storm moves on, can the four find a balance and resume their normal lives?

Jade Matthews may be young, but she knows what she wants in a man–someone mature and kinky, a man who shares her deepest desires to have her pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen and submissively compliant in the bedroom.

Archer Brennan aches to unleash his dark side on the too-young grocery bagger, with her pert pony tail and glossy lips that makes him yearn for a taste. With an ex-wife and a messy divorce threatening to destroy his pursuit of happiness, he binds himself to one rule — hands-off Jade’s tight body until his divorce settlement is final.

A submissive must obey her Dom, but some rules were meant to be broken, and when one misstep threatens the dominant lawyer’s life, will Jade defy Archer’s hands-off decree or lose the only man capable of fulfilling all of her dreams?

“I pull you down over my lap, head and legs dangling down either side, arms held tight behind your back with my left hand. The scent of your arousal rises to my nose, and I breath deep. Unable to help myself, I stroke the globe of your ass and dip between your thighs to find your wetness.

“—and you beg to come, but I withdraw my hand, denying your release. Your musky scent draws me like a bee to nectar, and I stick my fingers in my mouth, sucking them clean and groaning at your sweet taste.

“Then, whack!”

I jumped, a small yelp ripping from me even though Archer sat ten feet away from me.

“Your body jolts beneath my hand, but you have nine left. Within seconds, three hand prints flare to life on your skin, and you’re no longer struggling to escape. I sooth my palm over the red markings, and a moan slips from your lips. By the eighth swat, you lift your hips toward my hand with a needy groan, the pain morphed into pure pleasure.”

My mouth parted as I drew in air, quivering with the need to come.

“Are you wet for me, Jade?”

Through the buzzing in my ears, I realized he’d spoken to me directly. “God, yes,” I say, unable to help the honest need pouring from my words.

Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.

The #evernighties Thursday Weekly Author Blog Challenge is a once-a-week blogging adventure brought to you exclusively by Evernight authors. Each week, we answer a new question (listed below and borrowed from MFRW.org) and the answers will be featured on the Evernight Reader’s Group on Facebook, as well as our own blogs and social media platforms. Check out the group or follow the #evernighties tag to see how other authors answered this week’s question!

So, the topic of the day is, “What would I do if I couldn’t be a writer?”

There is no good answer to that. I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember, to create characters and situations (read: drama) is my personal getaway, and I’m so insanely lucky that there actually are people all over the world (!) willing to read the words I put onto paper and enjoying them, so if the means to relay my inner thoughts were to be taken away from me, it would be the same as to slowly drain me of life.

For fear that my mind, constantly bubbling with ideas, might implode, I would have to use my creativity in other fields. My inner voice does after all have a wealth of exciting new stories to tell and characters to develop, layer by layer. You can’t just ignore that.

Maybe I could draw instead, as I also used to do as a child. Or paint. Or sing. I did some pretty neat James Hetfield covers back in the day… 😉

But you wouldn’t want to hear that, would you! LOL

So okay, maybe I would do more sports, more cooking, more activities with my kids, more traveling, more reading… It would certainly give me a much more active life on the outside, but would it be meaningful enough on the inside? I hope I’ll never have to find out.

If you missed last week’s topic, “How much of me is in what I write”, I recommend you read the post here as it explains further why being a writer is so important to me!

Happy Wednesday, and thanks again to Angelica Dawson for organizing the MidWeekTeases!

I haven’t posted anything in a while due to losing my drive after our beloved friend Doris O’Connor tragically passed away a couple weeks ago. But I know she would have wanted us to “stay naughty, peeps”, so I will continue posting teases in her memory ❤

This week’s tease is taken from my ménage erotica HIGH-RISK FEVER. In this scene, we’re continuing where we left off: Anne’s husband had a “sex-emotional” fit in the cellar, and now she’s trying to recoup.

* * *

When she reappeared in the kitchen, Todd stood in front of the stove, cross-armed, staring at a boiling kettle. Yellow candlelight danced on his thoughtful face as he turned to her, features drawn.

“Hey.” She gave him an encouraging smile. He had more on his plate than she did.

“Hey. I’m making a cup of tea for Micaela. He hasn’t eaten anything since last night.”

She nodded, closed the cellar door, and clicked off the flashlight. “Of course, make yourself at home. How is he?”

Brian turned to her, eyes still expressionless. “Anne, why don’t you get him some medicine.”

“Yes.” With an inward sigh of relief—glad she was off the hook and could leave—she made for the door.

He stretched out an arm and stopped her, blocking the exit.

Her heart leapt. What did he want?

“By the way, the French family is leaving. They’ve had enough of the bad weather and want to go south.” He nodded to Todd. “That means a room is available for you and your friend. If you intend to stay.”

Calmness washed through her. For a second, she’d believed he would bring up what happened in the cellar and scold her in public. But he’s not going to make a scene.

“That’s great!” Todd smiled. “It wouldn’t be wise to move on now that Micaela is sick.”

“But I have only one room for the both of you. The other tenants are staying a while longer. I’m not sure how many days, but—”

“That’s fine. Thanks.”

“It’s fifty euro a night.”

“Sure, no prob.” Todd broadened his smile. Probably one less stone for him to carry.

An ill loved one was so heartbreaking. In the past two and a half years, Papa had progressively suffered from Alzheimer’s, losing memory, messing things around in the house, and failing to recognize his own family. Maman’s decision to move into an apartment in town was the only wise thing to do, and though she never told Anne much about her feelings, watching her beloved husband reach the end stage of life in such a condition must be extremely painful.

I pray Brian and I never have to go through that.

Brian turned to her. “Would you mind changing their bed sheets?”

“Not at all. I’m on my way.” She exited the kitchen.

Her heartbeat slowed. Flashlight in hand, she went up the creaking stairs to the landing. Micaela’s hoarse cough sounded in the living room behind her, and she paused to listen, hand on the paneled wall, wondering what she could do to help. Not much, yet.

Brandishing the flashlight, she walked past the tenant rooms and entered her empty bedroom. Among a variety of medical supplies in a cupboard, she found a small box of licorice pastilles and bottles of soluble aspirin, vitamin C, and cough mixture.

She grabbed a pile of clean sheets from the bigger closet—the one against which Micaela had pinned her—and carried everything to the vacant tenant room down the hall.

The door was unlocked. She put the sheets and medicine on a small desk in the corner. The room contained a double bed with ruffled sheets, a small table on each side, and a chair. The distinct smell from the previous tenants lingered. Dim light peeked in from two windows overlooking the street. Rain clattered on the glass panes, and playful gusts of wind made the hinges shake.

She opened a window to let in fresh air. Her hair blew back and danced around. Horizontal raindrops whipped her face, but she welcomed each cold sting as if it could wash away her confusion. Chains of heavy black clouds moved from one side of the village to the other, weighing on the neighboring buildings before being replaced with new clouds. Thunder raged like some monster in the distance, threatening to crack open the skies.

The door handle clanked behind her. She froze then turned with her heart in her throat.

Micaela stood in the doorway smiling, wearing the same pullover and sweatpants as yesterday. He stepped in and closed the door. In the dim light, his pale face looked clammy and his dark eyes shone with sickness. Yet the straight, confident way he held himself revealed not only the stance of a dancer, but pride and inner strength. Beard stubble covered his handsome chin. He reeked of pure masculine hotness.

Copyright @ 2018 Lea Bronsen

Two young and indecently handsome bicyclists visit a village in the French Alps during the summer holidays. Forced by a raging storm to spend the night at the local bed & breakfast, they invade the quiet lives of hostess Anne and her husband, Brian.

A power outage plunges the foursome into darkness, encouraging new liaisons to form, life-long secrets to be unveiled, and steamy lessons to be learned. But once the storm moves on, can the four find a balance and resume their normal lives?

Handsome Luke Kirby loves books, so when he finds boxes of old and beautiful tomes in a dusty shop, he can’t resist buying them. To his delight one of them contains what he hopes will bring an end to his loneliness and heartache. As he prepares to cast an ancient prayer spell to the god of love, across town Ethan Goss decides that moving to a new apartment will ease his broken heart.

With the help of an eccentric real estate agent, gorgeous Ethan goes to a viewing in the block where Luke lives.

When Luke meets Ethan in the lobby, it’s the start of a passionate love affair.

Fate hasn’t finished with the two handsome men—will true happiness evade them both?

Buy the book

Read a teaser

In the lobby, Victor stopped walking. “I should show you the garden, but I need the key for the gate. It’s in my car. Wait here a moment.” He strode rapidly out of the front doors.

Ethan checked out the table in the foyer where mail sat in three neat stacks. One stack had a lot, the others not much at all. Ethan couldn’t help reading the names on the envelopes. As his gaze traveled over the addresses, someone clattered down the polished hardwood stairs.

Ethan turned to the footsteps.

A young man glanced up from watching where his feet fell. His blue eyes locked with Ethan’s stare.

Ethan gazed at him, and his stomach lurched. His heart pounded. Not one word would form in his mind other than, Wow.

The young man smiled, approaching the table. “Hi. I’m collecting my snail mail—yeah, not much as usual.”

Through a daze of attraction, Ethan watched the man pick up the two envelopes in his stack. He looked the young man up and down, taking in his hard body and fashionably cut dark hair. He held back a sigh of appreciation as the man turned to him.

“Are you the new tenant?” He waved a hand at the apartment door.

His low voice traveled over Ethan like a glaze of melting honey. Ethan stared at the man’s handsome face. He is gorgeous. About my age, too. “I haven’t taken the place yet, just…just viewed it.”

The young man moved closer. “You should take it. There aren’t many places as good, big, and with a garden this close to the city.” He held out his hand. “Luke Kirby. I live on the third floor, but that’s my patch of garden next to yours, if you take the place. It might seem odd to have to trundle down the stairs to sit in the sun with my coffee, but I’ve grown used to it.” His eyes sparkled at Ethan. He held Ethan’s gaze as he talked.

Butterflies filled Ethan’s stomach. He couldn’t stop his heart hammering and wondered if he could actually speak, meeting Luke had such an effect on him. “Ethan Goss.” He shook Luke’s hand. What he felt like doing was pulling the guy close and kissing those perfect lips that moved again.

“Pleased to meet you.” Luke held on to Ethan’s hand. His eyes held something unspoken.

A wave of longing rose through Ethan. His loneliness and need for sex put an ache in his stomach, replacing the butterflies. He glanced down at the strong hand gripping his, wondering if he could hold on a little longer, despite how weird that might be. Better not, that’s kinda creepy. All the same, it wasn’t Ethan who abandoned the handshake.

Luke let go but trailed his fingertips along Ethan’s palm as he withdrew his hand.

With his skin tingling from the touch, Ethan gazed into Luke’s blue eyes and knew. He’s gay. He somehow knows I am, too—probably the way I’m ogling him. He’s interested in me. Thank you, god. Ethan flashed his eyes at Luke with a flirtatious expression he usually reserved for cute guys he met in the gay bar.

Thank you for inviting me to your blog today. I’m doubly excited to share not only the re-launch of, If You Can’t Handle the Heat, but this re-release is also my first self-publishing venture.

This story was previously published with the title If You Can’t Stand the Heat. Though there is a little bit of added content, the story remains relatively the same.

In this erotic story, two very different professionals are brought together as celebrity judges on a reality-based cooking show. Sesto Théodore—the celeb chef that the show is built around—meets walking cliché, Syn Fully, erotic novelist. Though there is an immediate conflict in personalities, there is also an instant sizzling attraction. A classic clash and burn.

If You Can’t Handle the Heat
by
H K Carlton

Blurb:

An unlikely couple is brought together as celebrity judges on a new reality-based cooking show.

Sesto Théodore, is an arrogant yet well respected American-Italian chef, with several five-star restaurants.

Once bitten, twice shy, Syn Fully, is a jaded author of erotica, rocketing her way up all the best sellers lists.

From the moment Syn and Sesto meet, their personalities clash, yet behind the scenes sparks fly. Getting together would be a recipe for disaster, but hot sex with no-strings couldn’t hurt. At least not until real feelings get involved.

But just when Syn considers opening her damaged heart to the cocky chef, video of rather personal content is leaked online. Sesto immediately jumps to conclusions and accuses Syn of the privacy breach.

Can the arrogant chef forgive and forget, or will his pride leave him out in the cold?

Somebody’s about to get burned…

Possible Triggers: Please note one scene contains borderline bdsm and dubious consent/forcible confinement. Also in this story intimate video is obtained without the knowledge or consent of the participants involved, and later distributed online

Author’s Note: This erotic story has been previously published with the title, If You Can’t Stand the Heat. Though there is a little bit of added content, the story remains relatively the same. It has been re-edited and re-formatted for re-release, and has a sizzling new cover thanks to Studioenp

Sesto took the opportunity to turn his wrath on Syn. “May I speak to you out in the hall, please!” he demanded, shooting to his feet.

“Of course,” she responded, haughtily, as though she hadn’t just been giving him the initial stages of a hand job under the table.

Sesto allowed Syn to take the lead. He was momentarily captivated by her long shapely legs, as she stalked across the space, confident and oh-so fuckin’ sexy in those red stilettos. Sesto pulled level with her and couldn’t resist the urge to place his hand to the small of her back, left bare by the severe cut of her dress. If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d trembled at the contact. Or was it his hand that quivered?

In the corridor, Syn rounded on him, at the same moment he blurted, “What the fuck do you think…”

The words died on his tongue, as she once again stroked his shaft through his trousers. Her gaze settled on his mouth. Her breathing was shallow.

“Where’s your dressing room?” she asked, backing him up.

Sesto grabbed her other wrist and dragged her into the green room, before slamming the door behind them.

He yanked her hand, above her head and forced it against the door. He half-expected her to fight. What he wasn’t prepared for was the brazen little smile that hooked her sinful lips, as she raised her arm to join the other. With both hands stretched above her head Syn arched toward him, thrusting her beautiful tits, right in his face.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked again. “We don’t even know each other.”

“I know. Isn’t it wicked, how our bodies want to though.”

He groaned, shifting uncomfortably foot to foot, yet he couldn’t focus on anything but her lovely breasts.

“Go ahead, Théo, set them free,” she tempted, her voice barely above a whisper.

H K Carlton is a multi-genre Canadian author of romance, with over thirty titles in publication. From naughty to nice, historical to contemporary, time travel to space travel, and everything in between.

Congratulations to my lovely partner-in-crime Katherine Wyvern on your new release! I know this was a fun book for you to write, so I’m seriously looking forward to taking a deep dive into the world of sexy, naughty pirates 🙂

Hello and thank you so very much for hosting me today with my latest creature!

In the Eye of the Wind was written in one mad dash last summer and it’s the ultimate proof that an author has only marginal control on their characters. It is the story of an elf-pirate that was born by accident. In every possible way. The character came about one evening when I botched up an elf-portrait, so that he gained an eye-patch. There he was, an elf-pirate!

I was blown over. He was so sexy and beautiful! But I was writing a different book and I didn’t want to get involved with him. I tried to play coy. He wasn’t taking any of it though. He’s not the patient type. He was adamant that he wanted his story written, and written NOW.

So I dropped everything else and I started writing, with no ide where I was going with it. He was supposed to be light and fun. Nope. No way. He turned out to be a slightly demonic character with a seriously dark side to him. He was supposed to be bisexual (the original working title was The Queen’s Corsair, nuff said), but no, he wanted to have nothing to do with chicks, thank you very much. Gave me one hell of a rigmarole about that. He was supposed to have a menage story. No way. He turned out to be a man who loves only once. Jeez, as characters go, he wiped the floor with me beginning to end.

It was the most fun I ever had while typing.

Born in the northern wastes of Kaleva in the middle of a devastating war between light and darkness, Rikko’ has found his way south to the warm shores of the Circled Sea, the first elver to ever turn pirate.

Forbidden by the rules of the Andalouan court to pursue such an ungentlemanly career, Gael can only dream of ever becoming a doctor, and his medical studies remain unfinished until his aunt the Queen sends him on a covert mission to the pirate city of Beyas’kahl.

And here, after one night with Rikko’, all his loyalties are put to the test.

Queen Amata has reigned for three decades, and she always used her men cunningly. But even the best player can miscalculate, and her blunder places Gael first in slavery, then in a naval battle, and finally, worst of all, face to face with Rikko’s darkest and deadliest side.

From such darkness, is there any coming back? Is there any hope of love for Gael, or redemption for Rikko’?

Excerpt:

“Come, Puna, sweetie,” he said, plucking the lemur off Gael’s shoulder with one hand. He placed her on his chest of drawers, on a pile of freshly laundered clothes, her favorite bedding in the world, after himself. She grumbled a little but soon settled down. “And as for you, my boy, you come here to me,” he whispered, drawing Gael to the edge of his bed, where they both tumbled down together, kissing.

Gael was still frantically pecking at him, with those tight-lipped clueless kisses that drove Rikko’ to distraction. He let himself be kissed like that for some minutes—it was so ridiculously lovable.

Ah, it is a pity to teach him anything, he thought. I wish I could keep him like this forever. He knows nothing, except that he has this need…

But you can’t have your cake and eat it, I suppose.

“Wait, sweet, wait,” he whispered finally, and laid Gael on his back, pinning his body down with his folded leg as he lay beside him, and took his cheek in his palm. He put his mouth to Gael’s mouth, and gently, slowly, savoring every minute instant of it, he ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of those tightly closed lips, lightly at first, then harder, until the lips finally parted, like two halves of a plum, and Gael gasped in surprise and then lust. His body arched in desire when Rikko’s tongue met his, and he groaned with hunger, welcoming the new intimacy of that tongue-to-tongue kiss with an adoring fierceness that had Rikko’ near to tears with emotion. He groaned again, hugging Rikko’ closer, sinking his fingers in his hair, touching his face and neck and ears, pursuing his mouth when Rikko’ pulled back to breathe, licking Rikko’s lips.

Rikko’ had never met any grown man (Gael was young, sure, but not a child—Rikko’ despised child lovers, and never, ever went close to the little creatures himself) both so inexperienced, so shy, and yet so wholeheartedly passionate. It was enchanting, and utterly enflaming. He laughed softly and pulled back from the kisses. This was just too much. He could not wait any longer. He needed to touch this boy properly all over; he had to have his cock in his mouth, and maybe, if Gael was so inclined, inside that beautiful, taut little butt.

“Too many clothes,” he said, in Gael’s ear. He kicked off his flip-flops, and realized, with a bit of a shock, that he was still wearing his dagger, stuck in his sash, and his sword belt. He had forgotten all about them. He crossed the room to lay both weapons on his chest of drawers and untied his sash, and felt Gael’s hands on his hips.

“C—can I? Sir? Please?” whispered the boy, and Rikko’ smiled as Gael, with almost religious awe, unwound the length of silk from around his waist and hips and let it fall to the floor around his feet.

Rikko’ stepped out of the puddled folds and murmured, “You too.”

He finished undressing in a few seconds. He never wore a lot. It just got in the way.

Gael took off his clothes, and Rikko’ watched him from the bed, waiting. Under those strangely unattractive breeches and shirt, he was every bit as delicious as Rikko’ had always known he would be, not particularly muscular, but sleek and quick, and just a little awkward, like a young animal, full-grown but still uncertain of his body.

Rikko’ pulled him close, pressing that lithe soft form against his own, and their cocks met halfway, both hard and quite ready, so that they had to be pulled up against their bellies for them to embrace. Rikko’ smiled and palmed Gael’s butt, and kissed him, deep and long, and then put a hand between them and took the boy’s member in his fingers just for a bit of a feel, a bit of foreplay.

He tugged at the lovely taut cock once.

Gael gave a sort of astonished yelp, tensed all over, and then moaned wildly against Rikko’s shoulder, oh, oh, ooh, and suddenly Rikko’ found himself awash in hot, splashing, dripping jets of sperm, all down his belly, lap, and leg, a veritable, goddamn, bleeding flood of it.

He let go, dumbfounded, and then burst into laughter.

“Wh—well, I’ll be … what the…” he began, but, really, he could only laugh. I just barely touched him!

Author bio:

I have entered that age when looking at beautiful male models in their prime makes me a cougar, ahem.

Almost all my heroines are short: that’s because I look at the world from hobbit level. Being so small I am three times more concentrated (read: obsessive) than anybody I know. I am exhaustingly creative in writing, arts, crafts… Sometimes my brain gets friction burns from hurtling at such speed from one universe to the next.

I love animals, plants, and occasionally even people.

Like the Highlander I come from a lot of different places. I was born in Italy but lived here and there and consider myself simply and deeply European. I love Europe passionately, its antiquity, its diversity, its quirkiness. All my books are set in Europe, or alternate versions of it.

The #evernighties Thursday Weekly Author Blog Challenge is a once-a-week blogging adventure brought to you exclusively by Evernight authors. Each week, we answer a new question (listed below and borrowed from MFRW.org) and the answers will be featured on the Evernight Reader’s Group on Facebook, as well as our own blogs and social media platforms. Check out the group or follow the #evernighties tag to see how other authors answered this week’s question!

So, the topic of the day is, “How much of me is in what I write?”

Obviously, unless you believe in reincarnation, I’ve never been a Viking in the deep Norwegian fjords or a Ute Indian fighting for his land during the Civil War. I suck at playing ice hockey, I will never willingly pose before a camera, I haven’t ever volunteered to heroically fight fires, and I certainly haven’t killed anyone (that I know of, anyway).

But my Alv Gunnulfsen is a darn realistic gay Viking avenger and my portrayal of Native American peoples and culture will plunge you into the past so effectively, you’ll think you’re in a Western movie. My hockey champion Slay will take both a Dark Captive and your breath away on the ice rink, romance author Andrea posing in front of a sly photographer in The Perfect Shoot will make you sweat (whether it’s the intense heat from lamps or her proximity to hunky top model Yushka is for you to decide), my firefighter hero Runo will give you multiple heart failures and heart aches in Fiery 10-16, and I swear if you smell blood while reading Wild Hearted, that’s me thrusting a knife between my victim’s ribs and snickering. Or pulling a trigger so brain mass rains all over me, punching his face until it’s an unrecognizable blob, or, after having carved out his carotid, piercing it with the thin tip of a blade, just like that, for fun.

Yeah, because my characters are me. Who did you think gave them a voice, a heart, a soul, a conscience? I’m the one fighting, longing, loving fiercely, getting off, and losing my mind. If you think my characters are malicious and arrogant, yep, that’s me, hello! living out who I cannot be in real life. Does a scene with fusing body parts and loud moans make you hot and bothered? You may point the finger at me: I most likely enjoyed writing that scene. Can you feel one of my characters’ soul bleed? Oh, baby, that’s me crying my heart out. Or maybe you hear a self-satisfied cackle? Yep, I’m the whacko typing away furiously, playing with words, juggling them, carefully gauging their place in a sentence. Eh, over six hundred thousand of them have been thrown out to the wolves by now and I’m still around.

How can I describe any setting or situation if I haven’t been there and done that, you ask? And how do I create – embody – persons I’ve never met, how can I know what they think, how they feel deep inside, and how they are going to react? Well, 50 % of writing a book is research, and I thank the heavens for the internet so I don’t have to travel to the Great Plains in the US or the Sahara desert in Africa to know what it’s like over there – and the other 50 % is me, simply. I’m human, and so I make my characters human. I can be both a man and a woman, or I can choose to be a feminine man falling for other men. I can be good and bad, gentle and terrifying, a slut, a thug, a sadist plotting a vicious murder and lovin’ it, or an angel out to save the world. I can feel young and old, devoid of life or full of it, tormented or thirsting for a fight.

All it takes to start developing a new persona – a new me – is a call from one of my beloved muses talking me into writing a new story, or a publisher offering to assemble stories for an anthology. And as soon as an idea begins to form, you can betcha my character is spending days and nights hovering over my shoulder, whispering into my ear, telling me his miseries and his cravings and his dreams. I know who he is, and come hell or high water, I’ll breathe flames of passion into his soul and bleed tears of love until his story is ready for the world to read.